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In  July^  will  he  Published^  in  Five  Volumes^  Price  |5. 

THE  NOCTES  AMBROSIANJ:; 

"With  Portraits  of  Wilson,  Lockhart,  Maginn,  Hogg,  and  fao-similes. 

edited,  with  memoirs,  notes,  and  illustrations, 

BY  DR.  SHELTON  MACKENZIE, 

Ediioe  of  Shiil's  "  Sketches  of  the  Irish  Bar." 


The  Noctes  -were  commenced  in  1822,  and  closed  in  1835.  Even  in  England,  the  laps© 
of  years  has  obscured  many  circumstances  which  -were  -w-ell  known  thirty  years  ago. 

Dr.  SheltoiN  Mackenzie,  already  favorably  known  as  editor  of  Sheil's  "Sketches  of 
the  Irish  Bar,"  has  undertaken  the  editorship  of  The  Noctes  Ambrosian.e,  for  which  a 
familiar  acquaintance,  during  the  last  twenty- five  years,  with  the  persons,  events,  and 
places  therein  noticed  may  be  assumed  to  qualify  him.  He  has  been  on  terms  of  intimacy 
with  most  of  the  eminent  political  and  literary  characters  treated  of  in  the  "  Noctes  " 
and  his  annotation  of  the  text  will  include  personal  recollections  of  them. 

Besides  this,  Dr.  Mackenzie  has  written  for  this  edition  a  "History  of  the  Rise  and  Pro- 
gress of  Blackwood's  Magazine,"  with  original  memoirs  of  the  principal  accredited  authors 
of  the  "Noctes,"  via :— Professor  "Wilson,  The  Ettrick  Shepherd,  J.  G.  Lockhart,  and 
Dr.  Maginn. 

He  will  also  give  the  celebrated  "  Chaldee  Manuscript,"  published  in  1817,  instantly- 
suppressed,  and  so  scarce  that  the  only  copy  which  the  editor  has  ever  seen  is  that  from 
which  he  makes  the  present  reprint.  There  will  also  be  given  the  three  articles,  entitled 
"  Christopher  in  the  Tent,"  (in  August  and  September,  1819),  never  before  printed,  in 
any  shape,  in  this  country.  The  interlocutors  in  "  The  Tent,"  include  the  greater  number 
of  those  afterwards  introduced  in  the  "  Noctes." 

The  "  Metricum  Symphosium  Ambrosianum," — an  addendum  to  No.  III.  of  "  The 
Noctes,"  (and  which  notices  every  living  author  of  note,  in  the  year  1822),  will  be  in- 
corporated in  this  edition.     This  has  never  before  been  reprinted  here. 


Nearly  Ready,  in  Tivo  Volumes. 

THE  ODOHERTY  PAPEES, 

forming  the  FIRST  portion  OF  THE  MISCELLANEOUS  WRITINGS  OF  THE  LATE 

DR.    MAGINN. 

WITH  AN  ORIGINAL  MEMOIR  AND  COPIOUS  NOTES,  BT 

DR.  SHELTON  MACKENZIE. 


For  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century,  the  most  remarkable  magazine  writer  of  his 
time,  was  the  late  William  Maginn,  LL.D.,  well-known  as  the  Sir  Morgan  Odoherty  of 
Blackwood''s  Magazine^  and  as  the  principal  contributor,  for  many  years,  to  Fraser's 
and  other  periodicals.  The  combined  learning,  wit,  eloquence,  eccentricity,  and  humor 
of  Maginn,  had  obtained  for  him,  long  before  his  death,  (in  1843),  the  title  of  The 
Modern  Rabelais.  His  magazine  articles  possess  extraordinary  merit.  He  had  the 
art  of  putting  a  vast  qiiantity  of  animal  spirits  upon  paper,  but  his  graver  articles — which 
contain  sound  and  serious  principles  of  criticism — are  earnest  and  well-reasoned. 

The  collection  now  in  hand  will  contain  his  Facetije  (m  a  variety  of  languages).  Trans- 
lations, Travesties,  and  Original  Poetry,  also  his  prose  Tales,  which  are  eminently  beauti- 
ful,  the  best  of  his  critical  articles,  (including  his  celebrated  Shakspeare  Papers),  and 
his  Homeric  Ballads.  The  periodicals  in  which  he  wrote  have  been  ransacked,  from 
"  Blackwood"  to  "  Punch,"  and  the  result  will  be  a  series  of  greai  interest. 

Dr.  Shelton  Mackenzie,  who  has  undertaken  the  editorship  of  these  writings  of  his 
distinguished  countryman,  will  spare  neither  labor  nor  attention  in  the  work.  The 
first  volume  will  contain  an  original  Memoir  of  Dr.  Maginn,  written  by  Dr.  Mackenzie, 
and  a  characteristic  Portrait,  with  fac-simile. 

Published  hy  3,  S,  REDFIELD, 

110  &  112  Nassau-street,  New   York. 


THE    BRITISH    QUARTERLIES 

AND 

BLACI¥OOD'S  MAGAZINE. 


LEOIfARD  SCOTT  &  CO.,  New  York,  continue  to  Re-publisli  the  follow- 
ing British  Periodicals,  viz., 

1.  THE  LONDON  QUARTERLY  REVIEW  (Conseevative). 

2.  THE  EDINBURGH   REVIEW  (Whig). 

3.  THE  NORTH  BRITISH  REVIEW  (Fkee  Church). 

4.  THE  WESTMINSTER    REVIEW  (Liberal). 

5.  BLACKWOOD'S  EDINBURGH  MAGAZINE  (Tory). 


The  present  critical  state  of  European  affairs  renders  these  publications  unusually  interest- 
ing. They  occupy  a  middle  ground  between  the  hastily  written  news-items,  crude  specula- 
tions, and  flying  rumors  of  the  daily  Journal,  and  the  ponderous  Tome  of  the  future  histo- 
rian, written  after  the  living  interest  and  excitement  of  the  great  political  events  of  the 
time  shall  have  passed  away.  It  is  to  these  Teriodicals  that  readers  must  look  for  the  only 
really  intelligible  and  reliable  history  of  current  events,  and  as  such,  in  addition  to  their 
well-established  literary,  scientific,  and  theological  character,  we  urge  them  upon  the  consi- 
deration of  the  reading  public. 

Arrangements  are  now  made  for  the  receipt  of  early  sheets  from  the  British  Publishers, 
by  which  we  shall  be  able  to  place  all  our  Reprints  in  the  hands  of  subscribers,  Hbout  as  soon 
as  they  can  be  furnished  with  the  foreign  copies.  Although  this  involves  a  very  large  outlay 
on  our  part,  we  shall  continue  to  furnish  the  Periodicals  at  the  same  low  rates  as  heretofore. 
Viz.  :— 

Per  annum. 

For  any  one  of  the  four  Reviews $3  00 

For  any  two  of  the  four  Reviews, 5  00 

For  any  three  of  the  four  Reviews , 7  00 

For  all  four  of  the  Reviews. 8  00 

For  Blackwood's  Magazine 3  00 

For  Blackwood  and  three  Reviews 9  00 

"  For  Blackwood  and  the  four  Reviews 10  00 

Payments  to  be  made  in  all  cases  in  advance.  Money  current  in  the  State  where  issued 
will  be  received  at  par. 

CLUBBING. 

A  discount  of  twenty-five  per  cent,  from  the  above  prices  will  be  allowed  to  Clubs  ordering 
four  or  more  copies  of  any  one  or  more  of  the  above  works.  Thus:  Four  copies  of  Black- 
wood, or  of  one  Review,  will  be  sent  to  one  address  for  $9;  four  copies  of  the  four  Reviews 
and  Blackwood  for  $30 ;  and  so  on. 

POSTAGE. 

In  all  the  principal  Cities  and  Towns,  these  works  will  be  delivered,  through  Agents,  free 

OF  POSTAGE.    "When  sent  by  mail,  the  Postage  to  any  part  of  the  United  States  will  be  but 

TWENTY-FOUR  CENTS  a  year  for  "Blackwood,"  and  but  twelve  cents  a  year  for  each  of  the 

Reviews. 

Remittances  and  communications  should  always  be  addressed,  post-paid,  to  the  Publishers, 

LEONARD    SCOTT  &  CO., 

54   Gold  Street,  New  York. 


NOTICES    OF    THE    PRESS. 

"  These  republications  bring  to  us  the  very  cream  of  literature.  They  contain  a  mass  of 
information,  gathered  with  great  labor  and  sifted  by  some  of  the  most  learned  and  brilliant 
pens  of  the  age."— Memphis  Tennessee  Appeal 

*' '  Blackwood's  Magazine.'  In  classic  literature,  history,  travels,  antiquities,  biography, 
poetry,  criticism,  fiction,  philosopliy,  reviews,  &c.,  it  stands,  and  ever  has  stood,  without  a 
para.Ue\ ."—  PhUarielphui  Banner. 

"  We  have  received  the  American  reprint  of  this  sterling  old  Magazine— the  best,  take  it 
all  in  all,  which  is  known  in  our  language.  It  contains  more  of  the  solid  and  instructive, 
mingled  with  the  amusing  and  agreeable,  than  is  seen  in  any  other  periodical  of  the  day."— 
Portland  (Maine)  Advertiser. 

*'  We  always  look  forward  with  impatience  for  the  appearance  of  old  Ehony."— Gazetteer, 
Woodstock,  C.  W. 

"  Let  every  one  who  wishes  to  partake  of,  and  encourage  the  very  best  literatui'e,  sub- 
scribe for  Blackwood  without  delay."— (?a/^  {O.  W.)  Reporter. 


^^^^ 


^^-^^ 


NOCTES  AMBROSIAN^ 


BY    THE    LATE 


JOHN    WILSON 


PROFESSOR   OF   MORAL    PHILOSOPHY    IN    THE    UNIVERSITY    OP   EDINBURGH,    EDITOR 

OF  Blackwood's  magazine,  author  of  "the  isle  of  palms,"  etc. 


WM.  MAGINN,  LL.D.  J.  G.  LOOKHAET,  JAMES  HOGG,  &c. 


MEMOIRS  AND   NOTES 

By   R.    SHELTON   MACKENZIE,   D.C.L. 

editor  of  sheil's  "sketches  of  the  IRISH  bar" 


Vol.  I 

AUGUST,  1819— AUG.  1824 


REDFIELD 

110  AND  112  NASSAU  STREET,   NEW  YORK. 

1854. 


^^%  V.  TY.   ,    .   \     , 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1854, 

By  J.  S.  REDFIELD, 

in  the  Clerk's  OflSce  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States,  in  and  for  the  Southern 

District  of  New  York. 


EDITOR'S   PREFACE 


Additional  interest  is  given,  by  the  recent  death  of  Professor  "Wilson, 
to  the  present  wofk.  A  complete  edition  of  the  Noctes  Ambkosianjs  (with 
notes  and  illustrations,  necessary  to  a  true  understanding  of  the  allusions  with 
which  the  work  is  crowded,  and  the  personal  satire  it  contains)  cannot  be 
published  in  England  for  many  years.  In  the  lapse  of  time  since  the  original 
appearance  of  "  The  Noctes  "  in  Blackwood's  Magazine,  persons,  localities, 
and  circumstances  therein  mentioned  or  glanced -at,  have  been  so  forgotten, 
altered,  or  obscured,  as  to  require  brief  but  sufficient  explanations.  A  literary 
life,  the  greater  part  of  which  was  passed  in  England  and  Scotland,  has  given 
me  familiar  acquaintance  with  most  of  the  individuals  and  events  treated  of  in 
this  work,  and  has  qualified  me,  I  think,  for  the  editorship  which  I  have  as- 
sui^ed. 

Besides  a  History  of  Blackwood's  Magazine,  I  have  written  memoirs  of 
Wilson,  Lockhart,  Hogg  and  Maginu,  the  accredited  authors  of  The  ISToctes. 
The  engravings  consist  of  a  fine  portrait  of  Wilson,  (after  Sir  J.  Watson 
Gordon,  President  of  the  Royal  Scottish  Academy,)  with  characteristic  full- 
length  sketches,  by  Maclise  and  Skillin,  of  the  other  writers.  There  is  also  the 
fac-simile  of  a  page  of  The  Noctes  in  Professor  Wilson's  own  writing. 

I  have  endeavored  to  render  this  edition  complete,  by  introducing  the  cele- 
brated Chaldee  Manuscript,  full  of  satire  and  libel,  which  first  brought  Black- 
wood's Magazine  into  notoriety' — was  suppressed  as  soon  as  published — was 
afterwards  boasted  of  as  a  brilliant  jeu  d' esprit, — and  has  been  so  scarce  that 
the  only  copy  I  have  ever  seen,  and  I  have  long  sought  for  it,  was  that  from 
which  I  make  the  present  reprint. 

In  August  and  September,  1819,  nearly  two  years  antecedent  to  the  first 
of  The  Noctes,  (which  commenced  in  March,  1822,  and  closed  in  February, 
1835,)  there  appeared  a  series  of  articles  entitled  "  Christopher  in  the  Tent," 
never  before  presented  in  this  country,  in  any  shape,  which  I  have  here  intro- 
duced as  properly  prefatory,  because  the  interlocutors  in  The  Tent  include 
the  greater  number,  of  those  Vv'ho  afterwards  appeared  in  The  Noctes.  I  have 
also  inserted  a  satirical  poem  entitled  "  Metricum  Symposium  Ambrosianum," 
(originally  intended  as  an  addendum  to  No.  III.  of  The  Noctes,)  in  which 
there  is  a  notice  of  every  living  British  author  of  note,  in  the  year  1822.  This 
has  never  been  reprinted  in  America,  and  I  have  copiously  annotated  it.     The 


IV 

whole  work  has  been  very  carefally  revised  from  the  original  issue  in  the  Maga- 
zine, whereby  Wilson's  peculiarities  of  composition  and  punctuation  are  fully 
preserved. 

It  only  remains  for  me  to  tender  my  grateful  acknowledgments,  for  access  to 
and  loan  of  books  of  reference,  to  Messrs.  Harpers,  Appletons,  and  Evans  & 
Dickerson,  publishers  in  New-York  ; — to  Messrs.  Evert  A.  and  George  L. 
Duyckinck,  for  having  kindly  placed  their  valuable  private  library  at  my  ser- 
vice ;— to  Mr.  Philip  J.  Forbes,  of  the  Society  Library,  for  access  to  books, 
and  for  information ; — to  my  good  friends  Messrs.  Deans  &  Howard,  (of  the 
New-York  Sunday  Times,)  for  the  use  of  a  variety  of  publications,  m  their  pos- 
session, which  I  had  occasion  to  consult ; — to  Dr.  Robert  Tomes,  of  New- 
York,  to  Dr.  Henry  Abbott,  (of  the  Collection  of  Egyptian  Antiquities,)  to 
Dr.  John  W.  Francis,  of  New- York,  and  to  Mr.  William  Wilson,  of  Pough- 
keepsie,  for  facts,  anecdotes,  and  references. 

Let  me  conclude  with  a  §tory  and  a  moral : — In  Ireland,  during  one  of  the 
agrarian  insurrections  of  the  last  century,  a  banker  in  Galway,  named  French, 
was  particularly  disliked  by  the  laboring  classes.  The  Peep-o'-Day  Boys,  as 
"  these  sons  of  night "  called  themselves,  resolved  to  ruin  "  that  double-distilled 
villam,  ould  French."  To  do  this  effectually,  whenever  they  visited  the  houses 
of  the  farmers  and  gentry,  besides  demanding  arms  and  ammunition,  they  insisted 
on  the  surrender  of  such  of  French's  bank-notes  as  were  on  hand.  To  show 
that  it  was  not  from  a  mere  predatory  motive,  they  used  solemnly  to  burn  the 
notes  before  the  late  possessors,  exclaiming,  as  they  were  converted  into  ashes, 
"  There — there's  more  ruin  for  ould  French ;  we'll  burn  every  note  of  his  that's 
above  ground,  and  not  leave  the  villain  a  brass  farthing."  They  pursued  this 
vindictive  game  so  successfully  that,  in  the  course  of  a  year  or  two,  Mr.  French 
was  some  £4,000  richer — by  the  destruction  of  notes  which  he  otherwise  must 
have  taken  up  and  paid. 

MORAL. 

Most  gentle  public,  have  no  hesitation  in  following  this  Peep-o'-Day  example. 
Buy  up  all  copies  of  The  Noctes  which  may  get  into  the  market.  Loan  them 
not,  so  that  others  will  be  compelled  to  purchase  also.  If  you  clear  away  the 
whole  of  our  large  impression,  believe  that  publisher  and  editor  will  submit  to 
such  "  ruin,"  with  the  exemplary  patience  of  martyrs. 

R.  S.  M. 

112  Nassau  Street,  New- York,  July  25, 1854. 


HISTORY 

OF 

BLACKWOOD'S    MAGAZINE 

BY  DR.   SHELTON  MACKENZIE. 


William  Blackwood,  founder  and  proprietor  of  the  Magazine  which  has 
borne  his  name  "  to  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth,"  died  at  his  house  in  Edin- 
burgh, on  the  16th  September,  1834,  in  the  fifty-eighth  year  of  his  age.  His 
parents,  who  were  in  an  humble  station. of  life,  placed  him  as  apprentice  with 
Bell  &  Bradfute,  well  known  booksellers  and  publishers,  in  Edinburgh,  in  the 
latter  part  of  the  eighteenth  and  the  earlier  years  of  the  nineteenth  century.  In 
their  employment  he  read  a  great  variety  of  books,  but  Scottish  History  and 
Antiquities  more  particularly  engaged  his  attention.  He  was  known  to  have 
closely  studied  and  largely  mastered  these  subjects,  and,  when  he  established 
himself  in  business,  his  accomplishments  soon  attracted  the  notice  of  persons 
whose  good  opinion  was  distinction.  For  many  years  he  was  content  with 
being  extensively  engaged  in  the  sale  of  classical  and  antiquarian  works,  and  was 
considered  one  of  the  best  informed  booksellers  of  that  class  in  Great  Britain. 

Even  as  late  as  forty  years  ago,  what  is  called  the  New  Town  of  Edinburgh 
was  regarded  with  dislike  and  distrust  by  the  Old.  In  the  latter  place,  the 
Castle,  the  University,  the  Courts  of  Law,  the  Advocates'  Library,  the  Signet 
Library,  the  Royal  Exchange,  the  College  of  Surgeons,  Heriot's  and  Watson's 
Hospitals,  the  principal  churches,  the  Assembly  Hall,  and  even  the  Palace  of 
Holyrood,  were  distinguishing  features.  There,  too,  were  the  book-shops,  the 
printing-offices,  and  the  publishers'  places  of  business.  In  the  New  Town,  there 
were  few  shops.  The  gentry,  it  is  true,  had  domiciles  there.  But  the  idea  of 
any  publisher  moving  thither  would  have  been  looked  upon  as  the  height  of 
folly,  half  a  century  since. 

Mr.  Blackwood  was  a  man  of  much  sagacity.  He  saw  that  the  rich,  who 
are  naturally  purchasers  of  books,  lived  in  the  New  Town.  He  sold  off  his 
large  stock,  chiefly  consisting  of  old  books, — moved  to  a  large  and  airy  suite  of 
rooms  in  Prince's  street,  which  had  formerly  been  occupied  by  a  notable  confec- 


VI 

tioner,  and  was  therefore  well  known  to  the  public,  and  prepared  to  be  to  Edin- 
burgh what  John  Murray,  of  Albemarle  street,  was  among  the  publishers  of 
London.  The  "  trade  "  in  the  Old  Town  ominously  shook  their  heads,  and  saga- 
ciously predicted  ruin.  Blackwood  did  not  mind  them  very  much,  but  moved 
to  the  immortal  No.  17  Prince's  street,  in  tne  year  1816,  and  applied  himself  to 
the  disposal  of  general  literature  and  the  business  of  a  popular  publisher.  In 
April,  1817,  he  brought  out  No.  1  of  Blackwood's  Edinburgh  Magazine. 

It  is  necessary  now  to  go  back  a  little.  The  first  Number  of  the  Edinburgh 
Review  had  appeared  on  the  25th  October,  1802  ;  precisely  at  the  period  when 
Pitt,  yielding  to  the  general  desire  for  peace,  had  retired  from  office,  in  order 
that  Addington  (afterwards  Lord  Sidmouth)  might  make  a  treaty  with  France 
for  that  purpose.  Then  followed  Pitt's  return  to  office  in  1804  ;  the  prosecu- 
tion of  the  war  with  France  with  redoubled  energy ;  the  splendid  victories  on 
land,  with  which  Napoleon  dazzled  the  world  ;  the  battle  of  Trafalgar,  where 
triumph  was  dearly  purchased  by  the  death  of  Nelson ;  the  death  of  Pitt,  in 
January,  1806 ;  the  succession  of  Fox  to  office,  with  his  tenure  of  it  lament- 
ably abridged  by  death  ;  the  continued  successes  of  Napoleon  ;  the  annexation 
of  Spain  and  Portugal  to  the  French  empire ;  and  the  determination  of  Eng- 
land, carried  into  effect,  by  Wellington,  to  rescue  the  Peninsula  from  the  usur- 
pation of  France.  All  these  occurrences  intervened  in  the  seven  years  between 
1802  and  1809,  and  afforded  a  vast  supply  of  materials  for  discussion  in  the 
Edinburgh  Review.  Meanwhile,  that  periodical  was  successful  beyond  all 
hope  and  precedent,  but  it  inculcated  the  idea — which  was  really  entertained 
by  Jeffrey — that  resistance  to  the  far-spreading  power  of  Napoleon  was  and 
would  be  useless,  and  that  peace  with  France,  on  any  terms,  was  the  only  means 
by  which  the  political  existence  of  England  could  possibly  be  preserved. 

The  English  and  Scottish  Tories  and  Anti-Gallicans  held  different  and  (as  the 
event  has  proved)  wiser  opinions.  They  determined  to  oppose  the  Ediubm-gh 
Review — whose  circulation  was  9,000  a  number  at  this  time,  with  the  influ- 
ence which  such  extensive  publicity  gave  it.  The  literary  criticism,  which 
was  very  good,  carried  it  into  quarters  where  the  political  articles,  of  them- 
selves, might  have  tabooed  it.  In  February,  1809,  with  John  Murray  as  its 
publisher,  and  William  Giflford  as  its  editor,  the  first  number  of  the  Quarterly 
Review  came  before  the  world.  With  such  contributors  as  Scott,  George 
Ellis,  Canning,  Frere,  Croker,  Southey,  and  other  men  of  repute  and  intellect>  x 
the  Quarterly  immediately  took  the  high  stand  which  it  has  since  maintained. 
John  Ballantyne,  the  nominal  head  of  Scott's  pubhshing  house,  was  Murray's 
Edinburgh  agent.  After  some  time,  Blackwood  was  placed  in  that  lucrative 
position.  When  Scott  quarrelled  with  Constable,  the  Edinburgh  publisher,  in 
1816,  Murray  and  Blackwood  gladly  became  publishers  of  the  next  of  the 
Waverley  Novels,  which  happened  to  be  the  first  series  of  "  Tales  of  My  Laud- 
lord."    This  was  immediately  before  Blackwood  had  gone  to  the  New  Town, 


Til 

and  when  lie  was  known  only  as  an  intelligent  antiquarian  bookseller,  and 
agent  to  Murray 

Removed  to  the  New  Town,  in  1816,  Blackwood  appears  to  ha.ve  con- 
templated the  idea  of  exalting  the  character  of  magazine  literature,  then  fallen 
very  low  indeed.  At  this  time  he  was  forty  years  old.  In  Peter's  Letters,  (by 
Lockhart,)  he  was  described  as  "  a  nimble  active-looking  man  of  middle  age, 
and  moves  about  from  one  corner  to  another,  with  great  alacrity,  and  appa- 
rently under  the  influence  of  high  animal  spirits.  His  complexion  is  very  san- 
guineous, but  nothing  can  be  more  intelligent,  keen,  and  sagacious,  than  the 
expression  of  the  whole  physiognomy  ;  above  all,  the  gray  eyes  and  eyebrows, 
as  full  of  locomotion  as  those  of  Catalani.  The  remarks  he  makes  are,  in  gen- 
eral, extremely  acute — much  more  so,  indeed,  than  those  of  any  member  of  the 
trade  I  ever  heard  speak  upon  such  topics." 

Some  time  before-  this,  James  Hogg  had  conducted  a  weekly  literary  journal 
in  Edinburgh  called  "  The  Spy."  It  failed,  but  Hogg,  who  was  full  of  pro- 
jects, got  the  idea  that  a  monthly  periodical  would  succeed.  There  was  none 
in  Edinburgh,  at  that  time,  except  a  miserable  periodical  entitled  "  The  Scots' 
Magazine."  Hogg  spoke  on  the  subject  to  the  late  Thomas  Pringle,  who,  it 
appeared,  had  simultaneously  entertained  a  similar  idea.  Then  Blackwood 
was  spoken  to,  and  he,  also,  had  not  only  thought  of,  but  vfas  actually  prepar- 
ing for  such  publication.  It  is  evident,  then,  that  Blackwood  had  not  derived 
the  idea  from  Hogg,  as  it  had  previously  been  a  creation  of  his  own  mind. 

Blackwood,  sagacious  even  beyond  the  sagacity  of  "  canny  Scotchmen," 
had  noted  two  points, — 'that  the  Edinburgh  Review,  with  its  light  flying  artil- 
lery of  wit,  personality,  and  sarcasm,  was  a  more  important  assailant  than  the 
Quarterly,  with  its  heavy  ordnance  ;  and  that  the  Quarterly  had  a  limited 
circulation  in  Scotland,  wherein  lay  the  greatest  sale  of  the  Edinburgh  Review. 
Blackwood  was  a  decided  party-man.  He  belonged  to  the  Tory  side,  and 
hated  all  that  was  Whig.  From  the  first,  he  determined  to  make  his  Maga- 
zine the  assailant  of  the  Edinburgh  Review  and  its  party. 

On  the  first  of  April,  1817,  the  first  number  of  "  Blackwood's  Edinburgh 
Magazine"  was  published.  It  was  edited  by  Messrs.  Pringle  and  Cleghorn, 
— both  of  whom,  curiously  enough,  were  much  deformed  in  person.  Truth  to 
say,  the  words  "  dull  and  decent"  would  truly  characterize  this  opening  num- 
ber. There  were  "  Notices  concerning  the  Scottish  Gipsies,"  written  by  Scott, 
(who  occasionally  wrote  for  it  until  illness  wholly  prostrated  him) — there  was 
a  story  of  Pastoral  Life,  by  Hogg — there  were  some  antiquarian  articles,  prob- 
ably, selected  by  Blackwood — there  was  some  poetry — there  v^ere  a  few  re- 
views— there  was  a  monthly  chronicle  of  events,  reports  on  agriculture  and 
commerce,  and  lists  of  births,  deaths,  and  marriages. 

Such  a  publication,  though  Henry  Mackenzie  and  others  speedily  came  into 
it,  as  contributors,  was  not  what  the  times  required — nor  Mr.  Blackwood.    He 


Vlll 

speedily  felt,  and  lamented,  its  want  of  a  distinctive  character.  By  the  time 
the  fourth  number  was  published,  he  and  his  editors  had  quarrelled  :  the  won- 
der is  how  they  ever  agreed,  they  being  bitter  Whigs,  while  he  was  a  decided 
Tory.  Pringle  and  Cleghorn  went  over  to  Constable,  the  publisher,  conveying 
with  them  the  list  of  subscribers  to  the  Magazine,  which,  they  said,  belonged  to 
them.  Constable,  wroth  with  Blackwood  for  having  obtained,  out  of  his 
hands,  the  publication  of  the  Waverley  Novels,  received  the  deserters  with 
open  arms,  installing  them  in  the  Editorship  of  the  "  Scot's,"  henceforth,  for  the 
brief  time  of  its  future  existence,  to  be  known  as  "  Constable's  Edinburgh 
Magazine." 

Blackwood  was  thrown  on  his  own  resources,  which  did  not .  fail  him.  He 
undertook  to  be  his  own  Editor,  and  so  he  continued,  for  the  remaining  seven- 
teen years  of  his  life.  He  looked  about  for  assistants,  and  found  them.  There 
was  James  Hogg,  whose  Queen's  Wake  had  placed  him,  not  long  before,  in  a 
station,  among  Scottish  poets,  inferior  only  to  Robert  Burns  and  Walter 
Scott.  There  was  John  Wilson,  then  in  the  spring  of  intellect  and  flush  of 
young  manhood.  There  was  John  Gibson  Lockhart,  eminently  gifted  by  nature 
and  largely  improved  by  education.  There  was  Robert  Pierce  Gillies,  (after- 
wards the  Kempferhausen  of  "  The  Noctes,")  whose  admirable  notices  of  the 
dramatic  literature'of  Germany  and  Scandinavia  speedily  gave  the  Magazine  a 
peculiar  and  inimitable  character.  There  were  others,  of  less  note, — but  these 
were  enough  at  the  time. 

In  Blackwood  for  October,  1817,  appeared  an  article  occupying  nearly  eight 
pages,  and  entitled  "  Translation  from  an  Ancient  Chaldee  Manuscript,"  which 
took  the  shape  of  a  book  of  Holy  Writ,  being  couched  in  biblical  language, 
and  divided  into  chapter  and  verse.  In  reality,  this  was  a  sharp  and  pregnant 
satire  upon  Constable,  Jeffrey,  Pringle,  Cleghorn,  and  the  most  noted  members 
of  the  Whig  party  in  Edinburgh.  There  is  no  room  to  doubt  that  the  main 
authorship  of  this  literary  Congreve  rocket  (for  so  it  was)  must  be  credited  to 
James  Hogg,  though  the  wits  of  Maga  used  to  sneer  at  the  idea.  His  own  ac- 
count, published  in  each  of  \i\%five  autobiographies,  (all  of  which  appeared  in 
William  Blackwood's  lifetime,)  was  simply  this, — that  he  wrote  the  "  Chaldee 
Manuscript,"  and  sent  to  Mr.  Blackwood,  from  Yarrow  ;  that,  on  first  reading 
it,  Blackwood  did  not  think  of  publishing  it ;  that  "  some  of  the  rascals  to 
whom  he  showed  it,  after  laughing  at  it,  by  their  own  accounts,  till  they  were 
sick,  persuaded  him,  nay  almost  forced  him  to  insert  it ;  for  some  of  them  went 
so  far  as  to  tell  him,  that  if  he  did  not  admit  that  inimitable  article  they  would 
never  speak  to  him  as  long  as  they  lived," — and  that  they  interlarded  it  "  with 
a  good  deal  of  deevilry  of  their  own,"  which  Hogg  had  never  thought  of  Hogg, 
saw  nothing  objectionable  in  the  article,  and  would  not  have  scrupled  to  have 
shown  it  to  Constable,  (therein  described  as  "  the  Crafty,")  nor  to  Pringle — who, 
with  Cleghorn,  figured  in  it,  as  one  of  "  the  Beasts."    All  that  Hogg  meant 


HISTORY  OF  Blackwood's  magazine.  ix 

was  to  give  a  "  sly  history  of  the  transaction,  [Pringle's  quarrel  with  Black- 
wood,] and  the  great  literary  battle  that  was  to  be  fought."  Hogg's  own  por- 
tion of  the  "  Chaldee  Manuscript "  consisted  of  the  first  two  chapters-,  part  of 
the  third,  and  part  of  the  last.  He  suspected  Lockhart,  who  was  eminently 
sarcastic  and  personal,  of  having  thrown  in  the  pepper. 

Words  cannot  adequately  describe  the  dismay,  astonishment,  wrath  and 
hatred  which  greeted  the  seventh  number  of  Blackwood,  containing  the 
Chaldee  Manuscript.  There  was  a  wild  outcry,  all  through  Edinburgh,  before 
the  Magazine  had  been  one  hour  published.  Not  alone  was  the  accusation  of 
personality  made,  but  it  was  declared  that  the  interests  of  religion  and  society 
demanded  the  prosecution,  with  a  view  to  the  heavy  punishment,  of  Mr.  Black- 
wood, for  having  published  "  a  ribald  and  profane  parody  upon  the  Bible." 
Greatly  alarmed,  Blackwood  determined  to  withdraw  the  offensive  article.  He 
had  actually  issued  only  two  hundred  numbers  of  the  Magazine.  Every  other 
copy  that  went  out,  was  minus  the  "  Chaldee,"  and,  in  the  next  number,  which 
was  published  in  November,  1817,  there  appeared  the  following  very  humble 
apology  :— 

"  The  Editor  has  learned  with  regret,  that  an  article  in  the  first  edition  of 
last  number,  which  was  intended  merely  as  a,jeu  d' esprit,  has  been  construed  so 
as  to  give  offence  to  individuals  justly  entitled  to  respect  and  regard ;  he  has 
on  that  account  withdrawn  it  in  the  second  edition,  and  can  only  add,  that  if 
what  has  happened  could  have  been  anticipated,  the  article  in  question  cer- 
tainly never  would  have  appeared." 

Some  prosecutions  were  commenced,  and  Blackwood  had  to  pay  £1000,  in 
costs  and  damages,  in  two  years.  More  were  threatened.  The  result  was  that, 
henceforth,  Blackwood's  Magazine  became  looked  for,  month  after  month,  in 
the  expectation  of  some  other  group  of  personalities.  In  due  season,  it  must 
be  confessed,  this  expectation  duly  obtained  remarkable  fruitage. 

At  this  distance  of  time,  when  thirty-seven  years  have  elapsed  between  the  orig- 
inal publication  of  the  Chaldee  Manuscript  and  this  notice  of  it,  difficult  would 
it  be  to  point  out  a  tithe  of  the  personalities  with  which  it  literally  abounded. 
To  obtain  even  a  sight  of  the  article  has  been  difficult.  I  searched  all  the  na- 
tional and  pubhc  libraries  in  England  and  Scotland,  where  sets  of  Blackwood 
are  kept,  and  never  succeeded  in  meeting  one  containing  the  first  (and  sup- 
pressed)  edition  of  No.  YII.,  containing  The  Chaldee.  A  short  time  since,  in 
New- York,  I  discovered  a  set  of  Blackwood  containing  the  desiderated  article,* 
and,  as  it  is  in  itself,  not  only  a  Uterary  cm-iosity,  iDut  is  repeatedly  referred  to 

*  It  was  Mr.  Evans,  (of  the  firm  of  Evans  &  Dickerson,  New- York,)  who  informed  me  that  he 
possessed  a  complete  set  of  Blackwood,  with  this  suppressed  article.  On  examination,  I 
found  that  it  was  even  as  he  said.  Eventually,  I  purchased  this  set,  but  am  not  the  less 
obliged  to  the  polite  courtesy  of  the  vendors,  which  permitted  me  to  make  a  copy  of  the  article, 
some  weeks  before  I  had  determined  to  obtain  ownership  of  the  valuable  series. — M. 


in  The  Noctes,  I  shall  reprint  it,  at  the  end  of  this  narrative,  with  notes  suffi- 
cient to  indicate  the  principal  persons  therein  referred  to. 

Soon  after  the  publication  of  the  Chaldee  Manuscript,  Wilson,  Lockhart, 
Gillies  and  Hogg  entered  into  very  intimate  relations  with  Blackwood.  This 
list  was  speedily  augmented.  In  1818,  the  late  Major  Thomas  Hamilton  (sub- 
sequently known  as  author  of  "  The  Youth  and  Manhood  of  Cyril  Thornton,'' 
and  "  Men  and  Manners  in  America  ")  entered  the  corps  as  a  volunteer.  The 
following  year  witnessed  the  adhesion  of  Dr.  Magiun,  afterwards  known,  in 
Blackwood,  as  Morgan  Odoherty.  John  Gait,  the  novelist,  soon  joined  the  band, 
and  a  very  young  versemaker  (the  late  David  Macbeth  Moir)  wrote  a  great 
deal  for  it  under  the  Greek  signature  of  A.  But  the  actual  conduct  of  the  Maga- 
zine, which  included  correspondence  with  contributors,  was  wholly  in  Black- 
wood's hands.  He  was  an  excellent  man  of  business,  and  the  Magazine  owed 
much  of  its  success  to  him. 

As  early  as  February,  1818,  probably  induced  by  the  bold  personalities  of 
the  Chaldee  Manuscript,  the  Magazine  obtained  an  able,  constant,  and  power- 
ful contributor  in  the  person  of  Timothy  Tickler, — who  figures,  very  extensively, 
as  one  of  the  dramatis  personce  of  the  Noctes.  The  real  name  of  this  writer 
was  Robert  Syme.  John  Wilson's  mother  was  his  sister.  He  was  a  Writer  of 
the  Signet,  in  extensive  practice  at  Edinburgh,  had  considerable  property,  lived 
in  a  grand  house  in  George's  Square,  and  was,  if  all  accounts  be  true,  one  of 
the  greatest  Tories  in  all  broad  Scotland.  Hogg  describes  him  as  "  an  uncom- 
monly fine-looking  elderly  gentleman,  about  seven  feet  high,  and  as  straight  as 
an  arrow."  He  w^as  a  good  violinist,  also, — which  strongly  recommended  him 
to  Hogg.  He  wrote  on  a  variety  of  topics  in  the  Magazine,  and  always  with 
marked  ability. 

At  one  time,  it  was  a  habit  to  review,  in  Blackwood,  books  which  never  had 
been  published.  In  February,  1819,  a  notable  instance  of  this  occurred. 
There  was  a  review,  critical  enough  and  rich  in  extracts,  of  a  book  professing 
to  have  been  printed  in  Aberystwith,  (a  small  watering-place  in  Wales,)  and 
entitled  "Peter's  Letters  to  his  Kinsfolk,  being  the  Substance  of  some 
familiar  Communications  concerning  the  present  State  of  Scotland,  written 
during  a  late  Visit  to  that  Country."  A  certain  Dr.  Peter  Morris,  of  Pen- 
sharpe  Hall,  Aberystwith,  was  invented  as  the  letter-  writer.  The  extracts 
were  piquant  enough,  and  the  allusions  to  persons  and  things  said  to  be  noticed 
in  the  book,  were  abundantly  provoking.  In  the  next  Blackwood  there  was  a 
further  and  fuller  review.  The  result  was  that  Lockhart  was  induced  to  com- 
plete "  Peter's  Letters,"  which  Blackwood  published,  (as  a  second  edition !)  and 
it  soon  reached  a  third.  Caustic,  witty,  earnest,  personal,  and  fearless, 
"  Peter's  Letters  "  attracted  great  attention,  and  no  slight  animadversion.  The 
author's  name  got  known,  and  the  Magazine  gained  much  credit  for  having 
introduced  Dr.  Morris  to  the  world. 

Among  the  early  contributors,  in  prose  or  verse,  were  Sir  Thomas  Dick 


XI 

Lauder,  who  afterwards  wrote  a  graphic  account  of  the  Great  Morayshire 
Floods  in  1829  ;  Dr.  McCrie,  the  biographer  of  John  Knox  and  Andrew  Melvil ; 
Sir  David  Brewster;  Wordsworth,  the  poet;  Dr.  Anster,  of  Dublin,  whose 
translation  of  ''  Faust  ""is" probably  the  best  yet  published  ;  Coleridge ;  Gait, 
the  Scottish  novelist ;  the  late  William  Gosnell,  of  Cork,  author  of  "  Daniel 
O'Eourke ;"  J.  J.  Callanan,  and  J.  D.  Murphy,  also  natives  of  Cork,  the  first 
of  whom  will  be  remembered  by  his  ballad  of  "  Gougane  Barra;"  Bowles,  the 
poet ;  Crofton  Croker,  author  of  "Irish  Fairy  Legends  ;"  Richard  B.  Peake, 
the  dramatist,  whose  "  Magic  Lay  of  the  One  Horse  Chay"  first  appeared  in 
Maga  ;  Barry  Cornwall ;  Gleig,  author  of  "  The  Subaltern  ;"  Professor 
George  Dunbar,  of  Edinburgh  University  ;  Tennant,  the  Oriental  scholar, 
author  of  "  Anster  Fair ;"  and  Mr.  Townshend,  of  Cork,  who  was  garrulous 
.  and  anecdotal  under  the  signature  of  "  Senex."  I  knew  him  in  my  youth,  and 
regret  that  he  did  not  publish  his  Recollections  m  extenso. 

The  first  actual  and  out-of-the-ordinary  article  which  showed  that  a  new 
power  had  begun  to  breathe  itself  into  the  Magazine,  appeared  in  the  number 
for  August,  1819,  and  was  the  commencement  of  the  Ante-Noctes  series 
called  "  Christopher  in  the  Tent."  It  affected  to  describe  the  sayings  and 
doings  of  the  Editor  and  his  contributors,  while  encamped,  on  the  commence- 
ment of  the  shooting  season,  at  the  head  of  the  river  Dee,  among  the  moun- 
tains of  Aberdeenshire.  A  variety  of  fictitious,  with  a  few  actual  personages, 
were  introduced.  There  were  Dr.  Morris,  Mr.  Wastle,  Odoherty,  the  Ettrick 
Shepherd,  Tickler,  Kempferhausen,  and  others,  including  Buller  and  Seward, 
(representatives  of  the  two  English  Universities,)  with  Price  and  Tims,  a 
couple  of  Cockney  tourists.  Nearly  all  these  were  creations  of  and  in  the 
Magazine.  Not  so,  Dr.  Scott,  the  Odontist  of  Glasgow,  who  is  entitled  to  a 
distinct  paragraph,  as  one  of  the  Curiosities  of  Literature. 

James  Scott  was  a  reality,  described  by  Hogg  as  "  a  strange-looking,  bald- 
headed,  bluff  little  man,  practising  as  a  dentist  in  Edinburgh  and  Glasgow  ; 
keeping  a  good  house  and  hospitable  table  in  both,  and  considered  skilful." 
Of  literature  he  was  wholly  ignorant,  but  Lockhart  and  others  perpetually 
mystified  him,  publishing  ballads  and  songs  in  his  name,  which,  at  last,  he  used 
to  sing  as  his  own,  whenever  he  could  get  auditors.  Pet  phrases,  allusions  to 
particular  incidents  and  persons,  were  so  adroitly  introduced  into  these  pieces, 
that — while  his  friends  marvelled  how  he  had  contrived  to  appear  a  dull  man 
for  the  preceding  fifty  years  of  his  life — nobody  discredited  his  claims  to 
authorship.  "  The  Lament  for  Captain  Paton,"  one  of  Lockhart's  best  bal- 
lads, was  put  into  Dr.  Scott's  mouth,  in  The  Tent,  and  gained  him  so  much 
reputation,  that,  on  a  visit  to  Liverpool,  soon  after,  the  Odontist  actually  was 
entertained  at  a  public  dinner,  on  the  strength  of  his  reputed  connection  with 
Blackwood !  The  wits  of  the  Magazine  even  went  to  the  length  of  announc- 
ing, among  forthcoming  works,  "  Lyrical  Ballads,  with  a  Dissertation  on  some 


Xll 

popular  corruptions  of  Poetry  ;  by  James  Scott,  Esq.  Two  small  volumes 
12mo."  He  was  anxious  for  the  publication,  and  had  even  sat  for  his  por- 
trait, as  a  frontispiece. 

The  first  section  of  "  The  Tent "  was  so  popular,  that  the  whole  of  the  suc- 
ceeding number  (for  September,  1819)  was  devoted  to  the  continuation  and 
conclusion,  in  two  parts.  Among  the  characters,  real  and  imaginary,  now 
brought  forward,  in  addition  to  those  already  named,  were  Blackwood,  John 
Ballantyne,  (hit  off  to  the  life,)  Francis  Jeffrey,  Professor  McCulloch,  Pringle 
and  Cleghorn,  (ex-editors  of  Blackwood,)  Mrs.  McWhirter  and  her  husband, 
the  erudite  Dr.  Parr,  the  Earl  of  Fife,  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Gordon,  and 
Prince  Leopold,  now  King  of  the  Belgians !  In  fact,  nearly  three  years  before 
the  actual  commencement  of  the  ISToctes  Ambrosiange,  here  was  the  overture 
to  that  renowned  series  where  wit  and  wisdom  found  a  voice.  As  such,  I 
have  included  it  in  this  collection,  of  which  it  properly  is  at  once  an  initiatory 
and  integral  portion.  No  part  of  Christopher  in  the  Tent  has  ever  before 
been  published  in  America  :  as  Coleridge  would  (and  did)  say,  "  It  is  as  good 
as  manuscript." 

In  October,  1830,  in  an  article  called  "  The  Moors,"  there  are  some  reminis- 
cences of  the  imaginary  proceedings  in  The  Tent,  in  August  and  September, 
1819.  Wilson  here  lamented  the  death  of  the  Odontist — paid  a  tribute  to  the 
evanished  glory  of  Dr.  Parr's  wig — declared  that  Odoherty  had  been  gathered 
to  his  fathers,  and  that  his  widow  (Mrs.  McWhirter)  had  applied  for  a  pension, 
which  the  Wellington  Ministry  were  likely  to  refuse,  but  which  their  succes- 
sors would  certainly  grant, — and  that  Tims,  though  puny,  was  far  from  unwell, 
"  and  still  engaged  in  polishing  tea-spoons,  and  other  plated  articles,  at  a  rate 
cheaper  than  travelling  gipsies  do  horn."  Wilson  repeatedly  writes  from 
"  The  Tent,"  as  witness  his  earliest  and  his  latest  articles  in  Maga. 

There  is  something  characteristic  of  his  love  of  external  nature,  a  passion 
which  filled  his  mind  while  yet  a  boy,  in  the  pertinacity  with  which,  in  his 
writings,  he  delights  to  traverse  mountain  and  valley,  to  breast  the  deep  waters 
of  the  dark  and  lonely  tara,  to  speed  across  the  heathery  moors,  to  follow  the 
rapid  river  to  its  small  source  among  the  hills,  to  claim  and  make  acquaint- 
ance with  the  free  denizens  of  earth  and  air,  to  hold  companionship  with  the 
humble  shepherd  in  his  turf-built  shieling,  far  up  among  the  clouds  and  sun- 
shine, in  the  extensive  tracks  where  thousands  of  sheep  found  food,  and,  at  all 
times  and  seasons,  to 

"  Look  through  K'ature  up  to  Nature^s  God." 

If  it  be  noticed  that  Christopher  North — clarum  et  venerabile  nomen ! — is 
not  actually  designated  as  such,  under  "  The  Tent,"  my  reply  is  the  very  suffi- 
cient one  that,  up  to  this  time,  the  name  had  not  been  invented.  The  conductor 
of  Blackwood  had  hitherto  been  represented  as  a  sort    of  "  stat  nominis 


HiSTOKY  OF  Blackwood's  magazine.  xiii 

umbra,"  and  was  spoken  of  as  "  the.  veiled  Editor."  No  doubt,  the  inconve- 
nience of  this  want,  of  individuality  was  felt.  Therefore,  on  the  back  of  the 
contents-page  of  Blackwood  for  September,  1819,  appeared  the  following  an- 
nouncement among  a  variety  of  other  (imaginary)  "  Books  preparing  for  Pub- 
lication," by  Blackwood,  of  Edinburgh,  and  Cadell  &  Davies,  of  London  : 

The  autobiography  of  Christophku  North,  Esq.,  Editor  of  Blackwood's 
Edinburgh  Magazine,  in  3  vols  8vo,  with  numerous  engravings  of  men  and 
things. 
"  Had  any  man  the  courage  to  write  a  full,  candid,  and  unaffected  account  of  what  he 

himself  has  seen  and  thought — he  could  not  fail  to  make  the  most  interesting  and  instructive  . 

book  in  the  world."  Kant. 

In  the  first  volume  of  this  work  will  be  found  a  copious  account  of  all  the 
extraordinary  scenes  which  occurred  in  Paris  at  the  commencement  of  the 
Revolution,  and  of  the  wonderful  escape  of  the  Author  shortly  after  the  mar- 
tyrdom of  King  Louis.  The  second  is  chiefly  occupied  with  the  political  state 
of  Scotland  in  the  years  immediately  succeeding — and  sketches  of  the  many 
singular  characters  first  about  that  time  developed  in  this  part  of  the  island. 
The  Author's  travels  into  various  countries  of  Europe,  particularly  Spain,  Sicily, 
Germany,  and  Ireland — his  return  to  Britain — and  final  establishment  in  the 
metropolis  of  Scotland— together  with  free  and  plain  strictures  on  some  recent 
transactions  of  a  very  uncommon  nature,  will  bring  the  third  volume  to  a 
conclusion. 

The  Author  is  not  insensible  to  the  very  great  boldness  of  the  Work  which 
he  has  thus  undertaken  to  prepare  for  the  public  eye.  The  nature  of  those 
clamours  which  cannot  fail  to  precede,  attend,  and  follow,  the  publication  of 
his  Memoirs  has  been  abundantly  contemplated  by  him,  and  he  has  fairly  made 
up  his  mind  to  endure  them  all.  The  age  at  which  he  has  arrived  is  such  as 
to  convince  him  of  the  folly  of  either  fearing  or  hoping  much  for  himself.  His 
only  object  and  ambition  is  to  produce  an  impartial  narrative — and  if  he  does 
so,  he  sees  no  reason  to  doubt  that  that  narrative  will  be  a  KTHMA  E2  AEI. 

From  this  period,  the  eidolon  called  Christopher  North,  was  the  recog- 
nised editor  of  Blackwood.  Here  he  alluded  to  his  age  as  being  far  ad- 
vanced. Judging  from  a  subsequent  statement  in  the  Noctes,  immortal  North 
was  born  in  December,  1755,  which  would  make  him  64,  in  The  Tent;  67, 
when  the  Noctes  commenced  ;  and  80,  when  they  were  concluded.  Of  course, 
then,  in  June,  1849,  when  the  Dies  Boreales  were  commenced.  North  must 
have  been  94,  and  must  have  reached  the  ripe  age  of  97,  when  the  last  was 
penned,  in  September,  1852.* 

The  first  of  the  Noctes  Ambrosianae  was  published  in  March,  1822.  The 
interlocutors  were  North  and  Odoherty.  In  the  preceding  June,  Dr.  Maginn, 
who  had  become  one  of  the  most  prolific,  as  he  certainly  was  the  most  learned, 

*  Vide  the  article  in  Blackwood,  for  May,  1854,  which  gives  this  as  the  date  of  Wilson's  last 
contribution. — M. 


XIV 

of  all  the  contributors,  had  visited  Bla'jkwood,  at  Edinburgh,  and  made  inti- 
mate acquaintance  with  Wilson,  Lockhart,  Hogg,  Hamilton,  Gillies,  and  the 
rest  of  his  collaborateurs.  I  am  much  disposed  to  attribute  the  first  of  the 
Noctes  wholly  to  his  pen,  and  I  am  confident  that  No.  TV.,  (July,  1822,)  in 
which  Byron  and  Odoherty  are  the  only  speakers,  could  have  been  written 
by  none  other  than  "  The  Doctor." 

The  famous  Greek  motto,  with  the  (very)  free  translation,  which  used  to 
head  each  of  the  Noctes,  was  not  introduced  until  No.  YI.  It  was  written  by 
Maginn,  and  ruiis  as  follows  : 

XPH  A'EN  STMHOSm  KTAIKS2N  nEPINIS20MENAS2N 
HAEA  KflTIAAONTA  KAeHMENON  OINOnOTAZEIN. 

Phoc.  ap.  Ath. 
[^This  is  a  distich  by  wise  old  Phocylides, 
An  ancient  who  wrote  crabbed  Greek  in  no  silly  days ; 
Meaning,  "  'Tis  right  for  good  winebibbing  people, 
Not  to  let  the  jug  pace  round  the  board  like  a  cripple  ; 
But  gaily  to  chat  while  discussing  their  tipple."  • 

An  excellent  rule  of  the  hearty  old  coclc  His — 
And  a  very  fit  motto  to  put  to  our  Noctes.'\ 

C.  N".  ap.  Ambr. 

Whoever  began  the  Noctes,  or  whatever  pens  were  first  employed  upon  them, 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that,  very  speedily,  Wilson's  was  the  master-mind  which 
pressed  the  individuality  of  genius  into  them.  Was  it  wonderful,  then,  if 
they  bore  the  marks  of  his  authorship  ?  Peculiar  turns  of  expression,  and  par- 
ticular trains  of  thought,  such  as  only  he  indulged  in,  enabled  his  friends  to 
trace  his  pen  through  the  series,  month  after  month,  year  after  year.  From 
March,  1822,  until  February,  1835,  when  the  series  closed,  having  extended  to 
Seventy-One  Numbers,  no  Magazine  articles  won  more  attention  or  favor. 

Great  as  was  their  popularity  in  England,  it  was  peculiarly  in  America 
that  their  high  merit  and  undoubted  originality  received  the  heartiest  recog- 
nition and  appreciation.  Nor  is  this  wonderful,  when  it  is  considered  that  for 
one  reader  of  Blackwood's  Magazine  in  the  old  country,  there  cannot  be  less 
than  fifty  in  the  new.  There  was  a  strong  desire  among  the  more  cultivated 
minds  of  Great  Britain,  to  have  the  series  collected,  and  I  have  understood 
that  the  subject  was  seriously  discussed,  by  Wilson  and  the  Messrs.  Black- 
wood ;  but  it  was  considered  that,  abounding  in  literary  and  political  personal- 
ities, as  each  of  the  Noctes  did,  it  would  be  wholly  impossible  to  make  a 
collective  republication  without  such  omissions  as  would  virtually  destroy  the 
original  character  of  the  articles.  It  was  considered  that  a  period  of  five-and- 
twenty  or  thirty  years  must  pass,  before  the  Noctes,  unmutilated,  and  made 
clear  by  biographical,  literary,  political,  and  general  notes,  could  be  presented, 
as  a  whole,  to  the  British  public. 

t)n  this  side  of  the  water,  no  such  reasons  for  delay  existed,  and  the  repub- 


HISTORY    OF   BLACKWOOD  S    MAGAZINE.  XV 

lication  of  The  Noctes  AmbrosianjE  took  place  in  1843.  They  formed  four 
closely-printed  volumes,  and  I  shall  only  say  of  them,  that  they  were  distin- 
guished by  two  faults,  one  of  omission,  the  other  of  commission.  In  the  first 
place,  no  date  having  been  given  in  any  instance,  the  reader  was  left  wholly  in 
the  dark  as  to  the  time  of  each  dialogue ;  in  the  second,  the  whole  of  Wilson's 
peculiar  mode  of  personifying  things  (which  he  largely  did,  by  the  abundant 
use  of  capital  letters  in  nouns)  was  altered,  and  wherever  a  word  commenced 
with  a  capital — thus  giving  it  a  sort  of  brevet  title  on  the  page — it  was  reduced 
to  the  [lower-case]  ordinary  rank-and-file.  It  is  clear  that' if  a  writer  make 
it  part  of  his  system  to  have  certain  words  commence  with  a  particular  de- 
scription of  letter,  (as  Wilson  did  and  as  Carlyle  does,)  it  marks  his  style,  and 
should  be  preserved.  A  great  deficiency  in  the  first  American  edition  of  the 
Noctes. was  the  want  of  an  Index.  It  will  be  perceived  that  I  have  remedied, 
in  the  present  edition,  all  that  is  complained  of.  The  new  matter  now  added 
makes  the  series  as  complete,  so  far  as  the  text  is  in  question,  as  I  can  make  it. 
What  else  I  have  done,  in  illustration,  may  speak  for  itself. 

Meanwhile,  though  Blackwood  neA^er  relinquished  the  actual  business  con- 
duct of  the  Magazine,  Wilson  gradually  became  the  virtual  editor.  As  one 
of  the  Professors  in  Edinburgh  University,  he  had  station  ;  and  years,  as  they 
glided  on,  brought  soberer  thought.  In  1826,  Lockhart  went  to  London,  to 
conduct  the  Quarterly  Review,  and  with  him  departed  much  of  the  personal 
and  caustic  sarcasm  of  Maga.  The  more  generous  impulses  of  Wilson  became 
lords  of  the  ascendant.  The  onslaught  upon  the  Cockney  School  of  Litera- 
ture was  laid  aside,  and  every  man  of  genius  who  chose  to  write  for  Maga 
could 

"  Claim  kindi'ed  there  and  have  his  claim  allowed." 

It  would  be  a  long  task  even  to  enumerate  all  who,  from  that  time,  contrib- 
uted to  Blackwood.  To  the  last,  Hogg  and  Hamilton,  Aird  and  Sym  con- 
tinued in  that  band.  There  Maginn,  for  over  twenty  years,  poured  out  the 
treasures  of  his  learning,  wit,  and  fancy.  There,  some  of  Lockhart's  most 
brilliant  essays  and  poems  first  met  the  pubhc  eye.  There,  Thomas  Double- 
day,  a  poet  then,  and  only  a'  political  economist  now,  delighted  to  luxuriate. 
There,  the  delicate  fancy  of  Charles  Lamb  was  allowed  its  full  range.  There, 
Caroline  Bowles  was  ever  welcome,  whether  in  her  prose  "  Chapters  on 
Churchyards,"  or  in  her  simple  and  touching  lyrics.  There,  after  many  and 
notable  failures  in  other  departments  of  letters.  Gait  discovered  that  his  power 
lay  in  the  delineation  of  familiar  Scottish  life.  There,  "  Delta  "  flooded  the 
land  with  many  thousand  lines  of  unreadable  "  poetry,"  and  showed,  by  his 
•'  Autobiography  of  Mausie  Wauch,  tailor -at  Dalkeith,"  that  not  in  sentiment 
but  in  humor  was  his  real  strength,  in  which,  had  he  pleased,  he  might  have 
surpassed  Gait  himself  There,  Allan  Cunningham  gave  "  prose  by  a  poet," 
in  the  adventures  of  Mark  Macrobin,  the  Cam'eronian.     There,  De  Quincey 


XVI  HISTORY    OF    ELACKWOOd's    MAGAZINE. 

poured  out  his  subtlety,  which,  were  it  less  diffuse,  would  have  been  more 
valuable.  There,  Coleridge,  a  greatly  superior  mind,  occasionally  laid  his 
thoughts  before  the  public.  And  there,  a  star  among  them,  Mrs.  Hemans 
occasionally  occupied  a  page  or  two  with  some  noble  lyric.  Her  "  Aspiration 
and  Despondency  "  was  first  given  to  the  world  in  Blackwood. 

Great  political  changes  took  place  during  this  time  ;— the  brief  premier- 
ship of  Canning — the  incapacity  of  Lord  Goderich,  his  successor — the  iron 
grasp  of  power  by  "the  Duke' — the  election  for  Clare,  which  sent  O'Connell 
to  Parliament — the  granting  of  Catholic  Emancipation,  by  a  Ministry  whose 
li^'es  had  been  spent  in  resisting  it — the  consequent  branding  Wellington  and 
Peel  as  traitors  (to  party) — the  death  of  George  the  Fourth— the  outcry  for 
Parliamentary  Reform,  under  his  successor — the  contest  for  "  the  Bill " — the 
downfall  of  the  Tories — the  uprise  of  the  Whigs, — all  of  these  were  fruitful 
topics,  and  were  discussed  in  the  articles  in  Maga,  as  well  as  at  the  I*^octes. 

Among  the  literary  papers  which  now  appeared  may  be  noticed  the  con- 
tinuation of,  scarcely  inferior  to,  Swift's  History  of  John  Bull,  written  by 
Professor  George  Moir,  also  author  of  the  beautiful  series  entitled  "  Shak- 
speare  in  Germany." 

Nor  should  there  be  omitted,  in  this  rapid  enumeration,  the  finest  nautical 
fictions  of  the  age,  ("  Tom  Cringle's  Log,"  and  the  "  Cruise  of  the  Midge,") 
written  by  one  whose  very  name — Michael  Scott — was  ever  unknown  to  Mr, 
Blackwood.  In  September,  1834,  "  Ebony,"  as  he  loved  'to  be  called,  (the 
Chaldee  Manuscript  gave  him  the  title,)  "shuffled  ofi"  this  mortal  coil,"  igno- 
rant of  the  identity  of  Michael  Scott,  who  followed  him,  in  the  next  year. 

In  Blackwood,  after  this,  appeared  Sir  Daniel  K.  Sandford's  admirable 
papers  (adapted  from  the  German  of  Meissner)  on  the  Youth  and  JNlanhood 
of  Alcibiades.  There,  too,  after  six  English  periodicals  had  peremptorily 
rejected  them,  were  published  Samuel  Warren's  "  Passages  from  the  Diary  of 
a  late  Physician,"  which  literally  took  the  world  of  letters  by  storm,  and  were 
succeeded  by  the  yet  more  attractive  novel — alas !  that  it  should  be  a  carica- 
ture from  first  to  last — of  "  Ten  Thousand  a  Year." 

So  great  was  the  catholic  spirit  of  Maga  now,  that  the  ''  Men  of  Character  " 
of  republican  Douglas  Jerrold  appeared  under  the  same  cover  with  a  biog- 
raphy of  Burke,  and  tlie  historical  romance  of  "  Marston,"  by  Croly,  the  Tory. 
Macnish,  the  Glasgow  doctor,  was  allowed  to  make  his  eccentric  but  often  dull 
appearance  as  "The  Modern  Pythagorean."  Ingoldsby  (our  genial  fi-iend 
Barham)  introduced  "  My  Cousin  Nicholas "  to  the  world.  And,  specially 
invited  by  Wilson,  the  late  John  Sterling  contributed  his  delightful "  Literary 
Lore."  There,  too,  was  the  late  M*  J.  Chapman,  with  his  translations  from 
the  plays  of  ^schylus.  There  was  William  Hay,  not  translating,  but  actually 
transfusing  the  Greek  Anthology  into  English  poetry.  There,  Walter  Savage 
Landor  spoke  out,  as  familiar  with  the  illustrious  of  past  centuries,  in  his 


XVll 

"  Imaginary  Conversations."  There,  Professor  H.  H.  Wilson,  of  Oxford,  gave 
Specimens  of  the  Hindu  Drama.  There,  James  Ferrier  (now  Professor  of 
Moral  Philosophy  in  the  University  of  St.  Andrew's)  produced  his  eloquent 
and  thoughtful  Introduction  to  the  Philosophy  of  Consciousness.  And  there,, 
while  yet  a  youth,  William  E.  Aytoun  (afterwards  Wilson's  son-in-law)  gave 
trochaic  versions  of  Homer,  such  as  have  not  yet  been  surpassed. 

After  Blackwood's  death,  the  Magazine  came  more  under  Wilson's  sM?-'z;e;7- 
lance  than  it  formerly  had  been.  He  lost  no  time  in  inviting  Bulwer  to  con- 
tribute— and  to  this  we  owe  some  spirited  translations  of  Schiller,  and  the 
two  prose  fictions  ("  The  Caxtons,"  and  "  My  Novel")  which  are  admitted  to 
be  the  best  productions  of  the  greatest  living  author  of  England.  Monckton 
Milnes  (who  certainly  wants  common  sense,  or  he  would  not  have  published  a 
volume  of  "  Poetry  for  the  People,"  and  charged  two  dollars  for  the  book !) 
was  allowed  to  spread  his  elegant  fancies  over  occasional  pages  of  Maga.  Here 
were  welcomed  the  lofty  strains  of  Elizabeth  Barrett  Barrett,  the  greatest  of 
living  female  poets.  Here,  Charles  Mackay,  the  lyrist  of  humanity  and  pro- 
gress, earnestly  poured  out  heart-poetry.  It  was  here  that  the  late  Bartholo- 
mew Simmons,  a  young  Irish  poet,  who  "  died  too  soon,"  gave  his  exquisite 
lyrics  to  the  public.  And  here,  also,  did  Samuel  Phillips,  now  the  literary 
critic  on  the  "  Times  "  newspaper  in  London,  first  make  a  direct  and  success- 
ful challenge,  on  the  universal  mass  of  readers,  in  his  powerful  life-novel  called 
''  Caleb  Stukely."  Nor  should  I  here  omit  to  state  that  some  of  the  most 
powerful  articles,  (chiefly  on  American  politics  and  literature,)  ever  dashed  off 
by  John  Neal,  appeared  in  Maga.  At  a  later  period,  here  was  also  published 
the  earnest  poetry  of  Albert  Pike,  breathing  the  true  spirit  of  old  mythology, 
and  the  brilliant  prose-fictions  of  Ruxton. 

Ten  years  after  Blackwood's  death,  during  which  the  sceptre  had  virtually 
been  in  Wilson's  hands,  "  the  Professor  "  (as  he  was  always  called)  gradually 
began  to  yield  the  power  into  other  and  younger  hands.  One  of  his  oldest 
friends  had  been  old  Roger  Aytoun,  W.  S.  in  Edinburgh.*  A  son  of  his, 
William  Edmonstone  Aytoun,  had  become  a  dear  friend  of  Wilson's — a  yet 
dearer  of  Wilson's  daughter,  whom  he  married.  The  elder  Aytoun  was  a 
fierce  little  Whig :  the  younger,  a  staunch  Tory ;  able,  eloquent,  witty,  and 
laborious — which  last  was  proven  by  his  researchful  Life  of  Richard  the  Lion- 
hearted,  in  Murray's  Family  Library.  He  became  a  liberal  contributor,  in 
prose  and  verse,  to  Blackwood.  Station  he  did  not  lack,  for  he  was  Professor 
of  Rhetoric  and  Belles  Lettres  in  his  Alma  Mater,  the  University  of  Edin- 
burgh. And  so,  Wilson's  son-in-law  and  intimate  friend,  he  may  loe  said  to 
have  glided  into  Wilson's  place  in  the  Magazine.  Under  him,  old  contributors 
became  more  industrious  : — what  Blackwood  is  there  now,  without  an  article 

*  The  lawyers,  in  Edinburgh,  between  the  actual  counsellors,  who  plead,  and  the  mere  attor- 
neys, are  Writers  to  the  Signet. — M. 


XVlll 


HISTORY    OF   BLACKWOOD  S   MAGAZINE. 


from  Alison,  the  historian  ?  Aytoun's  own  force  has  been  further  developed 
in  satiric  fiction — who  can  forget  his  railway  novelettes,  "  My  First  Spec 
in  the  Boggleswades,"  and  "  Hov/  we  got  up  the  Glenmutchkin  Railway,  and 
how  we  got  out  of  it "  ? — but  his  Lays  of  the  Scottish  Cavaliers  show  his  vein 
of  poetry  to  be  rich  and  original.  His  powers  of  satire  are  great — though,  as 
yet,  he  has  used  them  very  rarely. 

So,  as- 1  have  said,  Aytoun  gradually  glided  into  the  editorship  of  Maga. 
Nor  did  Wilson  at  once  retire.  He  commenced,  and  completed,  a  series  of 
critical  articles,  in  his  own  style,  called  "  Specimens  of  the  British  Classics." 
After  this,  the  old  man  eloquent  flashed  out  in  his  "  Dies  Boreales," — the  last 
of  which  w^s  his  latest  composition. 

Beyond  this  need  the  record  be  carried  on  ?  Wilson  self-deposed,  sparkling 
to  the  last,  and  then — a  half  unconsciousness  between  him  and  the  grave. 
Aytoun,  educated,  as  it  were,  into  the  management  of  Maga.  Here  join  the 
Past  and  the  Present. 


To  this,  as  fitting  appendix,  I  subjoin  The  Chaldee  Manuscript.  The  notes 
which  I  append,  merely  indicate  the  principal  persons  and  things  alluded  to  : 
at  the  lapse  of  thirty-seven  years,  it  is  impossible  to  do  more.  No  doubt  every 
sentence  had  its  proper  barb,  when  written  : 


TRANSLATION 

FROM   AN 


ANCIENT   CHALDEE   MANUSCRIPT. 


[The  present  age  seems  destined  to  witness  the  recovery  of  many  admirable 
pieces  of  writing,  which  had  been  supposed  to  be  lost  for  ever.  The  Eruditi  of 
Milan  are  not  the  only  persons  who  have  to  boast  of  being  the  instruments  of 
these  resuscitations.  We  have  been  favored  with  the  following  translation  of 
a  Chaldee  MS.  which  is  preserved  in  the  gi'eat  Library  of  Paris,  (Salle  2d,  No. 
53,  B.  A.  M.  M.,)  by  a  gentleman  whose  attainments  in  Oriental  Learning  are 
■well  known  to  the  public.  It  is  said  that  the  celebrated  Silvester  de  Lacy  is 
at  present  occupied  with  a  publication  of  the  original.  It  will  be  prefaced  by 
an  Inquiry  into  the  Age  when  it  was  written,  and  the  name  of  the  writer.] 


CHAPTER  I. 

AND  I  saw  in  my  dream,  and  behold 
one  like  the  Messenger  of  a  King 
came  toward  me  from  the  East,  and  he 
took  me  up  and  carried  me  into  the 
midst  of  the  great  city  that  looketh  to- 
ward the  north  and  toward  the  east,* 


and  ruleth  over  every  people,  and  kin- 
dred, and  tongue,  that  handle  the  pen 
of  the  writer. 

2  And  he  said  unto  me,  Take  heed 
what  thou  seest,  for  great  things  shall 
come  of  it ;  the  moving  of  a  straw  shall 
be  as  the  whirlwind,  and  the  shaking 
of  a  reed  as  the  great  tempest. 


*  The  city  of  Edinburgh.— M, 


THE   CHALDEE   MANUSCRIPT. 


XIX 


3  And  I  looked,  and  behold  a  man 
clothed  in  plain  apparel  stood  in  the 
door  of  his  house  :  and  I  saw  his  name, 
and  the  number  of  his  name ;  and  his 
name  was  as  it  had  been  the  color  of 
ebony,  and  his  number  was  the  number 
of  a  maiden,  when  the  daj's  of  the  years 
of  he*i  virginity  have  expired.* 

4  And  I  turned  mine  ej'es,  and  be- 
hold two  beastsf  came  from  the  land 
of  the  borders  of  the  South ;  and 
when  I  saw  them  I  wondered  with 
great  admiration. 

5  The  one  beast  was  like  unto  a  lamb, 
and  the  other  like  unto  a  bear;  and 
they  had  wings  on  their  heads;  their 
faces  also  were  like  the  faces  of  men, 
the  joints  of  their  legs  like  the  polished 
cedars  of  Lebaiif>n,  and  their  feet  like 
the  feet  of  horses  preparing  to  go  forth 
to  battle ;  and  they  arose  and  they  came 
onward  over  the  face  of  the  earth,  and 
they  touched  not  the  ground  as  they 
went.  ■ 

6  And  they  came  unto  the  man  who 
was  clothed  in  plain  apparel,  and  stood 
in  the  door  of  his  house. 

7  And  they  said  unto  him.  Give  us 
of  thy  wealth,  that  we  may  eat  and  live, 
and  thou  shalt  enjoy  the  fruits  of  our 
labors  for  a  time,  times,  or  half  a  time. 

8  And  he  answered  and  said  unto 
them.  What  will  you  unto  me  where- 
unto  Imay  employ  you? 

9  And  the  one  said,  I  will  teach  the 
people  of  thy  land  to  till  and  to  sow ; 
to  reap  the  harvest,  and  gather  the 
sheaves  into  the  barn  ;  to  feed  their 
flocks,  and  enrich  themselves  with  the 
wool. 

10.  And  the  other  said,  I  will  teach 
the  children  of  thy  people  to  know  and 


discern  betwixt  right  and  wrong,  the 
good  and  the  evil,  and  in  all  things  that 
relate  to  learning,  and  knowledge,  and 
understanding. 

11  And  they  proffered  unto  him  a 
Book;:}:  and  they  said  unto  him,  Take 
thou  this,  and  give  us  a  piece  of  money, 
that  we  may  eat  and  drink,  that  our 
souls  may  live. 

12  And  we  will  put  words  into  the 
Book  that  shall  astonish  the  children 
of  thy  people;  and  it  shall  be  a  light 
unto  thy  feet,  and  a  lamp  unto  thy 
path ;  it  shall  also  bring  bread  to  thy 
household,  and  a  portion  to  thy  maid- 
ens. 

13  And  the  man  hearkened  to  their 
voice,  and  he  took  the  Book  and  gave 
them  a  piece  of  money,  and  they  went 
away  rejoicing  in  heart.  And  I  heard 
a  great  noise,  as  if  it  had  been  the  noise 
of  many  chariots,  and  of  horsemen 
passing  upon  their  horses. 

14  But  after  many  days  they  put  no 
words  into  the  Book,  and  the  man  was 
astonied  and  waxed  wroth,  and  he  said 
unto  them.  What  is  that  you  have  done 
unto  me,  and  how  shall  1  answer  those 
to  whom  I  am  engaged  ?  And  they  said, 
What  is  that  to  us?  see  thou  to  that. 

15  And  the  man  wist  not  what  for  to 
do:  and  he  called  together  the  friends 
of  his  youth,  and  all  those  whose  heart 
was  as  his  heart,  and  he  entreated  them, 
and  they  put  words  into  the  Book,  and 
it  went  forth  abroad,  and  all  the  world 
wondered  after  the  Book,  and  after  the 
two  beasts  that  had  put  such  amazing 
words  into  the  Book. 

16  Kow  in  those  days,  there  lived 
also  a  man  who  was  crafty§  in  counsel, 
and  cunning  in  all  manner  of  working: 


*  William  Blackwood,  {Etony^  whose  then  place  of  business  was  at  IT  Prince's  street. 
In  18S0  he  removed  to  45  George  street,  where  Maga  continues  to  be  published. — Ms 

t  Pringle  and  Cleghorn,  the  original  editors  ol  Blackwood's  Magazine^  were  "the  two 
beasts."  Both  were  deformed  in  person.  They  had  gone  over  to  Constable,  the  publisher 
of  the  Edinburgh  Review,  and  of  the  old  Scots^  Magazine,  and  the  satire  of  the  Chaldee  MS. 
was  elicited  by  this  defection.  In  one  of  Scott's  letters,  in  February,  1818,  four  months  after 
the  Chaldee  appeared,  he  says  :  "  Blackwood  is  in  rather  a  bad  pickle  just  now — sent  to  Co- 
ventry by  the  trade,  as  the  booksellers  call  themselves,  and  all  about  the  parody  of  the  two 
beasts." — M. 

X  Blackwood''s  Magazine  was  "  the  Book."— M. 

§  Archibald  Constable,  the  celebrated  Edinburgh  publisher,  had  obtained  the  sobriquet  of 


XX 


HISTORY    OF   BLACKWOOD'S    MAGAZINE. 


1*7  And  I  beheld  the  man,  and  he 
was  comely  and  well-favoured,  and  he 
had  a  notable  horn  in  his  forehead 
wherewith  he  ruled  the  nations. 

18  And  I  saw  the  horn,*  that  it  had 
eyes,  and  a  mouth  speaking  great 
things,  and  it  magnified  itself  even  to 
the  Prince  of  the  Host,  and  it  cast  down 
the  truth  to  the  ground,  and  it  grew 
and  prospered. 

19  And  when  this  man  saw  the  Book, 
and  beheld  the  things  that  were  in  the 
Book,  he  was  troubled  in  spirit,  and 
much  cast  down. 

20  And  he  said  unto .  himself,  Why 
stand  I  idle  here,  and  why  do  I  not 
bestir  myself  ?  Lo!  this  Book  shall  be- 
come a  devouring  sword  in  the  hand 
of  mine  adversary,  and  with  it  will  he 
root  up  or  loosen  the  horn  that  is  in  my 
forehead,  and  the  hope  of  my  gains  shall 
perish  from  the  face  of  the  earth. 

21  And  he  hated  the  Book,  and  the 
two  beasts  that  had  put  words  into  the 
Book,  for  he  judged  according  to  the 
reports  of  men  ;  nevertheless,  the  man 
was  crafty  in  counsel,  and  more  cun- 
ning than  his  fellows. 

22  And  he  said  unto  the  two  beasts. 
Come  ye  and  put  your  trust  under  the 
shadow  of  my  wings,  and  I  will  destroy 
the  man  whose  name  is  as  ebony,  and 
his  Book. 

23  And  I  will  tear  it  in  pieces,  and 
cast  it  out  like  dung  upon  the  face  of 
the  earth. 

24  And  we  will  tread  him  down  as 
the  dust  of  the  streets,  and  trample  him 
under  our  feet ;  and  we  will  break  him 
to  pieces,  and  grind  him  to  powder, 
and  cast  him  into  the  brook  Kedron.- 


25  And  I  will  make  of  you  a  great 
name ;  and  I  will  place  you  next  to 
the  horn  that  is  in  my  forehead, •)■  and 
it  shall  be  a  shelter  to  you  in  the  day 
of  great  adversity;  and  it  shall  defend 
you  from  the  horn  of  the  unicorn  and 
from  the  might  of  the  Bulls  of  Ba- 
sh an.  # 

26  And  you  shall  be  watchers  and 
guard  unto  it  from  the  emmet  and  the 
spider,  and  the  toad  after  his  kind  ; 

27  And  from  the  mole  that  walketh 
in  darkness,  and  from  the  blow-fly  after 
his  kind,  and  the  canker-worm  after 
his  kind,  and  the  maggot  after  his  kind. 

28  And  by  these  means  you  shall 
wax  very  great,  for  the  things  that  are 
low  shall  be  exalted. 

29  And  the  two  Blasts  gave  ear 
unto  him;  and  they  came  over  unto 
him,  and  bowed  down  before  him  with 
their  faces  to  the  earth. 

30  T[  But  when  the  tidings  of  these 
things  came  to  the  man  wlio  was 
clothed  in  plain  apparel,  he  was  sore 
dismayed  and  his  countenance  fell. 

31  And  it  repented  him  that  he  had 
taken  the  Book,  or  sent  it  forth  abroad ; 
and  he  said,  I  have  been  sore  deceived 
and  betrayed ;  but  I  will  of  myself 
yield  up  the  Book,  and  burn  it  with 
fire,  and  give  its  ashes  to  the  winds  of 
heaven. 

32  But  certain  that  were  there  pres- 
ent said  unto  him,  Why  art  thou  dis- 
mayed ?  and  why  is  thy  countenance 
fallen?  Go  to  now  ;  gird  up  thy  loins 
like  a  man,  and  call  unto  thee  thy 
friends,  and  the  men  of  thy  house- 
hold, and  thou  shalt  behold  and  see 
that  they  that  are  for  thee  are  more 


"  The  Crafty,"  several  years  before  it  was  given  to  him  in  the  Chaldee  MS.  The  title,  which 
stuck  to  him,  annoyed  him  very  much — the  more  so,  perhaps,  as  he  was  fond  of  conferring 
nicknames  upon  others.  Murray,  the  London  publisher,  he  called  The  Emperor  of  the  West; 
he  dubbed  himself  The  Czar  of  Muscovy ;  facetious  John  Ballantyne  was  The  Dey  of  All- 
jeers ;  and  Longman  &  Co.,  of  London,  were  The  Dwan,  in  his  nomenclature.  One  of  Long- 
man's firm  dined  with  him  at  his  country-house,  and  noticed  what  appeared  to  be  a  group  of 
swans  in  the  pond.  "  Sv/ans  !"  cried  Constable  :  "  they  are  only  geese,  man.  There  are  just 
five  of  them,  and  their  names  are  Longman,  Hurst,  Rees,  Orme,  and  Brown."  The  Londoner 
did  not  relish  the  jest. — M. 

*  By  the  horn,  which  ruled  the  nations,  the  Edinburgh  Review  was  indicated. — M. 

t  Constable  spared  no  cost  to  make  his  Edinburgh  Magazine  superior  to  Blackwood's,  but 
did  not  succeed. — M. 


THE    CHALDEE   MANUSCEIPT. 


XX] 


and  mightier  than  those  that  be  against 
thee. 

33  And  -when  the  man  whose  name 
•was  as  ebony,  and  whose  number  was 
the  number  of  a  maiden,  when  the 
days  of  the  years  of  her  virginity  have 
expired,  heard-  this  saying,  he  turned 
about ; 

34  And  he  took  from  under  ]iis 
girdle  a  gem  of  curious  workmanship 
of  silver,  made  by  the  hand  of  a  cun- 
ning artificer,  and  overlaid  within  with 
pure  gold ;  and  he  took  from  thence 
something  in  color  like  unto  the  dust 
of  the  earth,  or  the  ashes  that  remain 
of  a  furnace,  and  he  snuffed  it  up  like 
the  east  wind,  and  returned  the  gem 
again  into  its  place.* 

35  Whereupon  he  opened  his  mouth, 
and  he  said  unto  them,  As  thou  hast 
spoken,  so  shall  it  be  done. 

86  Woe  unto  all  them  that  take 
part  with  the  man  who  is  crafty  in 
counsel,  and  with  the  two  beasts ! 

37  For  I  will  arise  and  increase  my 
strength,  and  come  upon  them  like  the 
locust  of  the  desert,  to  abolish  and 
overwhelm,  and  to  destroy,  and  to 
pass  over. 

38  So  he  called  together  the  wise 
men  of  the  city,  both  from  the  Old 
City,  and  from  the  city  which  is  on 
this  side  of  the  valley,  even  the  New 
City,  which  looketh  toward  the  north ; 
and  the  wise  men  came. 

39  And  lo!  there  stood  before  him 
an  aged  man,  whose  hair  was  as  white 
as  snow,  and  .in  whose  hand  there  was 
a  mirror,  wherein  passed  to  and  fro 
the  images  of  the  ancient  days.f 

40  And  he  said,  Behold,  I  am 
stricken  in  years,  mine  eyes  are  dim. 
What  will  ye  that  I  do  unto  you? 
Seek  ye  them  that  are  young. 

41  And  all  the  young  men  that  were 


there  lifted  up  their  voice  and  said, 
We  have  sat  at  thy  feet  all  the  days 
of  the  years  which  we  have  lived  upon 
the  earth;  and  that  which  we  know 
is  thine,  and  our  learning  is  thine  ;  and 
as  thou  sayest,  even  so  will  we  do. 

42  And  he  said  unto  them.  Do  ye 
what  is  meet  in  this  thing,  and  let  not 
our  friend  be  discomfited,  neither  let 
the  man  which  is  crafty  rejoice,  nor 
the  two  beasts. 

43  And  when  he  had  said  this,  he 
arose  and  went  away;  and  all  the 
young  men  arose  up,  and  humbled 
themselves  before  him  when  he  went 
away. 

44  Then  spake  the  man  clothed  in 
plain  apparel  to  the  great  magician 
who  dwelleth  in  the  old  fastness,  hard 
by  the  river  Jordan,  which  is  by  the 
Border. :j;  And  the  magician  opened 
his  mouth,  and  said,  Lo!  my  heart 
wisheth  thy  good,  and  let  the  thing 
prosper  which  is  in  thy  hands  to  do  it. 

45  But  thou  seest  that  my  hands  are 
full  of  working,  and  my  labour  is  great. 
For,  lo,  I  have  to  feed  all  the  people 
of  my  land,  and  none  knoweth  whence 
his  food  Cometh  ;§  but  each  man  open- 
eth  his  mouth,  and  my  hand  filleth  it 
with  pleasant  things. 

46  Moreover,  thine  adversary  also  is 
of  my  familiars. 

47  The  land  is  before  thee :  draw 
thou  up  thy  hosts  for  the  battle  in  the 
place  of  Princes,  over  against  thine  ad- 
versary, which  hath  his  station  near 
the  mount  of  the  Proclamation;  quit 
ye  as  men,  and  let  favour  be  shown 
unto  him  which  is  most  valiant. 

48  Yet  be  thou  silent:  peradventure 
will  I  help  thee  some  little. 

49  So  he  made  request  also  unto  a 
wise  man  II  which  had  come  out  of 
Joppa,  where  the  ships  are,  one  that 


*  This  description  of  a  snuff-box  is  one  of  the  best  hits  in  the  Chaldee  MS.,  and  was  greatly- 
admired  by  Scott,  as  orientalizing  a  common  and  familiar  object. — M. 

t  The  aged  man  was  Henry  Mackenzie,  and  the  mirror  in  his  hand  alluded  to  his  periodical, 
"  The  Mirror,"  formerly  conducted  by  him  with  ability  and  spirit.  He  was  one  of  the  earliest 
contributors  to  Maga. — M. 

X  Sir  Walter  Scott,  "  the  great  Magician  of  the  North,"  whose  residence,  Abbotsford,  was 
situated  in  a  border  county,  by  the  river  Tweed. — M. 

?  At  this  time,  the  authorship  of  the  Waverley  Novels  was  unacknowledged. — M. 

!1  The  late  Professor  Jameson,  (died  1854,)  of  Edinburgh  University.— M. 


XXll 


HISTORY    OF   BLACKWOOD'S    MAGAZINE. 


had  sojourned  in  far  countries,  whose 
wisdom  is  great  above  all  the  children 
of  the  east,  one  which  teacheth  the 
sons  of  the  honourable  men,  and  speak- 
eth  wonderful  things  in  the  schools  of 
the  learned  men : 

60  One  which  speaketh  of  trees  and 
of  beasts,  and  of  fowl  and  of  creeping 
things,  and  of  fishes,  from  the  great 
Leviathan  that  is  in  the  deep  sea  even 
unto  the  small  muscle  which  dwelleth 
in  the  shell  of  the  rock  ; 

51  Moreover,  of  all  manner  of  pre- 
cious stones,  and  of  the  ancient  moun- 
tains, and  the  moving  of  the  great 
waters : 

52  One  which  had  been  led  before 
the  Chief  Priests,  and  lauded  of  them 
for  smiting  a  worshipper  of  Fire  in  the 
land,  which  being  interpreted,  signi- 
fieth  bread. 

53  And  he  said,  Behold,  here  is  a 
round  stone,  set  thou  that  iu  a  ring, 
and  put  the  ring  upon  thy  finger,  and 
behold,  while  the  ring  is  upon  thy 
finger,  thou  shalt  have  no  fear  of  the 
man-  which  is  crafty,  neither  of  the 
two  beasts. 

54  Tlien  the  man  spake  to  a  wise 
man  which  had  a  light  in  his  hand 
and  crown  of  pearls  upon  his  head, 
and  he  said.  Behold,  I  will  brew  a 
sharp  poison  for  the  man  which  is 
crafty,  and  the  two  beasts.  Wait  ye 
till  I  come.  So  he  arose  also  and  went 
his  way. 

55  Also  to  a  wise  young  man,  which 
is  learned  in  the  law,  even  as  liis  father 
was  learned,*  and  who  lifteth  up  his 
voice  in  the  courts  of  the  treasury  of 
our  Lord  the  King,  with  his  fellow,  who 
is  one  of  the  sons  of  the  Prophets. 

56  He  spake  also  to  a  learned  man 
who  sendeth  all  the  King's  messengers 
to  the  four  corners  of  the  great  city, 
each  man  clothed  in  scarlet,  and  beai'- 
ing  a  bundle  of  letters,  touching  the 
affairs  of  men,  in  his  right  hand,  f 


57  He  spake  also  unto  a  sweet  singer, 
who  is  cunning  to  play  all  stringed 
instruments,  who  weareth  a  charm  upon 
his  bosom,  even  a  stone,  whereon  is 
engraved  ancient  writing.  And  he 
framed  songs,  and  waxeth  very  wroth 
against  the  horn  which  is  in  the  fore- 
head of  the  man  which  is  crafty. 

68  Also  to  one  who  had  been  a  phy- 
sician in  his  jT^outh,  and  who  had  dwelt 
with  the  keeper  of  the  gates  of  the 
wise  men  : 

59  But  he  was  now  a  dealer  in  wine 
and  oil,  and  in  the  fishes  which  are 
taken  in  the  nets  of  the  people  of  the 
west; 

60  Also  in  strong  drink. 

61  Then  sent  he  for  one  cunning  in 
sharp  instruments  and  edged  tools, 
even  in  razors  ;  but  he  had  taken  unto 
himself  a  wife,  and  could  not  come. 

62  But,  behold,  while  they  were  yet 
speaking,  they  heard  a  voice  of  one 
screeching  in  the  gate,  and  the  voice 
was  a  sharp  voice,  even  like  the  voice 
of  the  unclean  bird  which  buildeth  its 
nest  in  the  corner  of  the  temple,  and 
defileth  the  holy  places. 

63  But  they  opened  not  the  door, 
neither  answered  they  a  word  to  the 
voice  of  its  screaming.  So  the  unclean 
thing  flew  away,  neither  could  they 
find  any  trace  of  its  going. 

64  And  there  was  a  silence  in  the 
assembly.  And,  behold,  when  they 
began  to  speak,  they  were  too  many, 
neither  could  the  man  know  what  was 
the  meaning  of  their  counsel,  for  they 
spake  together,  and  the  voice  of  their 
speaking  was  mingled. 

65  So  the  man  was  sore  perplexed, 
and  he  wist  not  what  for  to  do. 


CHAPTER  n. 

"VrOW,  behold,  as  soon  as  they  were 
jji    gone,  he  sat   down  in    his   inner 


*  John  Hope,  afterwards  one  of  the  Lords  of  Session,  (or  Supreme  Judges  of  Scotland,) 
whose  father,  Charles  Hope,  was  then  Lord  President  of  the  Court  of  Session.— M. 

t  The  Postmaster-General  of  Scotland.  The  coachmen,  guards,  and  letter-carriers  then 
wore  an  uniform,  of  which  a  scarlet  coat  was  the  most  remarkable  portion.— M. 


THE   CSALDEE   MANUSCRIPT. 


XXI 11 


chamber,  which  looketh  toward  the 
street  of  Oman,  and  the  road  of  Ga- 
briel, as  thou  goest  up  into  the  land  of 
Ambrose,*  and  the  man  leaned  with 
his  face  upon  his  hand. 

2  And  while  he  was  yet  musing, 
there  stood  before  him  a  man  clothed 
in  dark  garments,  having  a  veil  upon 
his  head ;  f  and  there  was  a  rod  in  his 
hand. 

8  And  he  said,  Arise,  let  not  thine 
heart  be  discouraged,  neither  let  it  be 
afraid. 

4  Behold,  if  thou  wilt  listen  unto 
me,  I  will  deliver  thee  out  of  all  thy 
distresses,  neither  shall  any  be  able  to 
touch  a  hair  of  thy  head. 

5  And  when  the  man  heard  the 
voice  of  his  speaking,  behold,  there  was 
in  his  voice  courage,  and  in  his  coun- 
sel boldness.  And  he  said  unto  him. 
Do  thou  as  it  seemeth  good  unto  thee ; 
as  thou  say  est  even  so  will  I  do. 

6  And  the  man  who  had  come  in 
answered  and  said.  Behold,  I  will  call 
mighty  creatures  which  will  comfort 
thee,  and  desti-oy  the  power  of  thy  ad- 
versary, and  will  devour  the  two  beasts. 

7  So  he  gave  unto  the  man  in  plain 
apparel  a  tablet,  containing  the  names 
of  those  upon  whom  he  should  call. 
And  when  he  called,  they  came;  and 
whomsoever  he  asked,  he  came. 

8  And  the  man  with  the  veil  stood 
by,  but  there  was  a  cloud  about  him, 
neither  could  they  which  came  see 
him,  nor  tell  who  it  was  that  com- 
pelled their  coming. 

9  And  they  came  in  the  likeness  of 
living  things,  but  I  knew  not  who  were 
they  which  came. 

10  And  the  first  which  came  was 
after  the  likeness  of  the  beautiful  leop- 
ard, from  the  valley  of  the  palm  trees, 


whose  going  forth  was  comely  as  the 
greyhound,  and  his  ej^es  like  the 
lightning  of  fiery  flame. 

11  And  the  second  was  the  lynx 
that  lurketh  behind  the  white  cottage 
in  the  mountains. 

12  There  came  also,  from  a  far 
country,  the  scorpion,  which  delighteth 
to  sting  the  faces  of  men,  that  he  might 
sting  sorely  the  countenance  of  the 
man  which  is  crafty,  and  of  the  two 
beasts. 

13  Also  the  great  wild  boar  from  the 
forest  of  Lebanon,  and  he  roused  up  his 
spirit,  and  I  saw  him  whetting  his 
dreadful  tusks  for  the  battle.  :j: 

14  And  the  grifiin  came  with  a  roll 
of  the  names  of  those  whose  blood  had 
been  shed  between  his  teeth ;  and  I 
saw  him  standing  over  the  body  of  one 
that  had  been  buried  long  in  the  grave, 
defending  it  from  all  men  ;  and  behold 
there  were  none  which  durst  come 
near  him. 

15  Also  the  black  eagle  of  the  de- 
sert, whose  cry  is  as  the  sound  of  an 
unknown  tongue,  which  flietli  over  the 
ruins  of  the  ancient  cities,  and  hath  his 
dwelling  among  the  tombs  of  the  wise 
men. 

16  Also  the  stork  which  buildeth 
upon  the  house-top,  and  devoureth  all 
manner  of  unclean  things,  and  all  bee- 
tles, and  all  manner  of  flies,  and  much 
worms. 

17  And  the  hysena  which  escheweth 
the  light,  and  cometh  forth  at  the  even- 
ing tide  to  raise  up  and  gnaw  the  bones 
of  the  dead,  and  is  as  a  riddle  unto  the 
vain  man. 

18  And  the  beagle  and  the  slow- 
hound  after  their  kind,  and  all  the 
beasts  of  the  field,  more  than  could  be 
numbered,  they  were  so  many. 


*  Oman  kept  a  hotel  in  Edinburgh.  Ambrose's  Tavern  was  situated  at  the  back  of  Princes 
Street,  in  a  place  called  Gabriel's  Road,  from  a  murder  committed  there  by  a  tutor  named 
Gabriel,  on  two  of  his  pupils.  He  was  caught  in  the  act,  ("red-handed,")  and,  by  power  of 
an  ancient  law,  was  hanged  on  the  spot,  with  the  bloody  knife  around  his  neck. — M. 

t  This  man,  thus  mysteriously  veiled,  was  the  unknown  Editor  of  Blackwood.  The  person- 
ality of  Christopher  North  was  not  invented  until  September,  1819. — M. 

%  Wilson  was  the  leopard.  Robert  Sym  (afterwards  Timothy  Tickler  of  "  The  Noctes  ") 
was  the  hysena.  Lockhart  was  the  scorpion.  Hogg,  of  course,  was  "  the  great  wild  boar  from 
the  forest."    Gillies  lived  at  "  the  white  cottage  in  the  mountains."— M. 


XXIV 


HISTORY    OF   BLACKWOOD  S   MAGAZlNEi 


19  ^  And  when  they  were  all  ga- 
thered together,  the  man  which  was 
clothed  in  plain  apparel  looked  about, 
and  his  heart  was  right  merry  when  he 
saw  the  mighty  creatures  which  had 
come  in  unto  him,  and  heard  the  tu- 
mult of  their  voices,  and  the  noise  of 
the  flapping  of  their  wings. 

20  And  he  lifted  up  his  voice,  and 
shouted  with  a  great  shout,  and  said. 
Behold,  I  am  increased  greatly,  and  I 
will  do  tei'rible  things  to  the  man  who 
is  crafty  and  to  his  two  beasts. 

21  And  he  sent  away  a  swift  mes- 
senger for  a  physician,  which  healeth 
all  manner  of  bruises,  and  wounds,  and 
putrefying  sores,  lest  that  he  should  go 
forth  to  heal  up  the  wounds  of  the 
man  that  is  crafty,  or  of  his  two  beasts, 

22  (Now  this  physician  was  a  mild 
man,  neither  was  there  any  gall  within 
him,  yet  he  went  near. 


CHAPTER  III. 

AND  while  these  things  were  yet 
doing,  I  heard  a  great  rushing,  and 
the  sound  as  of  a  mighty  wind :  and  I 
looked  over  the  valley  into  the  old 
city,  and  there  .was  a  tumult  over 
against  the  mount  of  Proclamation.* 

2  For  when  tidings  of  these  things 
came  to  the  man  which  was  crafty,  his 
heart  died  within  him,  and  he  waxed 
sore  afraid. 

3  And  he  said  unto  himself.  What 
is  this?  Behold  mine  adversary  is  very 
mighty,  neither  can  I  go  forth  to  fight 
him:  for  whom  have  I  save  myself 
only,  and  my  two  beasts  ? 

4  And  while  he  was  yet  speaking, 
the  two  beasts  stood  before  him. 

5  And  the  beast  which  was  like 
unto  a  bear  said.  Behold,  it  is  yet  har- 
vest, and  how  can  I  leave  my  corn 
which  is  in  the  fields  ?  If  I  go  forth 
to  make  war  upon  the  man  whose  name 


is  as  ebony,  the  Philistines  will  come 
into  my  farm,  and  carry  away  all  the 
full  sheaves  which  are  ready. 

6  And  the  beast  which  was  like 
unto  a  lambf  answered  and  said,  Lo ! 
my  legs  are  weary,  and  the  Egyptians 
which  were  wont  for  to  carry  me  are 
clean  gone  ;  and  wherewithal  shall  I 
go  forth  to  make  war  upon  the  man 
whose  name  is  as  ebony  ? 

7  Nevertheless  will  I  put  a  sweet 
song  against  him  into  thy  Book. 

8  But  the  man  which  was  crafty 
answered  and  said,  Unprofitable  gen- 
eration I  ye  have  given  unto  me  a 
horn  which  is  empty,  and  a  horse 
which  hath  no  feet.  If  ye  go  not  forth 
to  fight  with  mine  adversary,  deliver 
me  up  the  meat  which  I  have  given 
unto  you,  and  the  penny  which  ye 
have  of  me,  that  I  may  hire  others 
who  will  fight  with  the  man  whose 
name  is  as  ebony. 

9  And  the  beasts  spake  not  at  all, 
neither  aijswered  they  him  one  word. 

10  But  as  they  sat  before  him,  the 
beast  which  was  like  unto  a  bear  took 
courage ;  and  he  opened  his  mouth  and 
said, 

11  0  man,  thou  hast  fed  me  here- 
tofore, and  whatever  entereth  into  thy 
lips  is  thine.  Why  now  should  we  fall 
out  about  this  thing  ? 

12  Call  unto  thee  thy  counsellors, 
the  spirits,  and  the  wise  men,  and  the 
magicians,  if  haply  they  may  advise 
thee  touching  the  man  whose  name  is 
as  ebony,  and  the  creatures  which  are 
within  liis  gates.  Whatsoever  they 
say,  that  shall  be  done. 

13  Yet  the  man  was  not  pleased, 
neither  was  his  countenance  light- 
ened :  nevertheless,  he  did  even  as  the 
beast  said. 

14  So  he  called  unto  him  a  familiar 
spirit,  unto  whom  he  had  sold  him- 
self. | 

15  But  the  spirit  was  a  wicked 
spirit  and  a  cruel :  so  he  answered  and 


*  The  mount  of  Proclamation  was  a  part  of  the  Old  Town  of  Edinburgh,  on  which,  while  the 
Stuarts  reigned,  heralds  and  criers  used  to  read  royal  mandates  and  proclamations. — M. 
t  Cleghorn  was  the  bear,  and  Pringle  the  lamb.— M. 
J  Francis  Jeffrey  was  Constable's  "  familiar  spirit." — M. 


THE   CHAI.DEE   MANUSCRIPT. 


XXV 


said,  Lo,  have  I  not  put  great  might 
into  the  horn  which  is  in  thy  forehead  ? 
What  more  said  I  ever  that  I  would 
do  unto  thee?  Thy  soul  is  in  my 
hands  :  do  as  thou  listest  in  this  thing. 

16  But  the  man  entreated  him  sore- 
ly, yet  he  listened  not:  for  he  had 
great  fear  of  the  vision  of  the  man  who 
was  clothed  in  dai"k  garments,  and 
who  had  a  veil  upon  his  head ; 

11  (For  he  was  of  the  seed  of  those 
which  have  command  over  the  devils.) 

18  And  while  the  beasts  were  yet 
looking,  lo,  he  was  not ; 

19  For  even  in  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye  he  was  present  in  the  courts  of 
the  palace,  to  tempt  the  souls  of  the 
chief  priests,  and  the  scribes,  and  all 
those  which  administer  the  law  for  the 
King,  and  to  deliver  some  malefactors 
which  he  loved  out  of  their  hand. 

20  ^  Then  the  man  called  with  a  loud 
voice  on  some  other  spirits  in  whom  he 
put  his  trust. 

21  And  the  first  was  a  cunning 
spirit,  which  hath  its  dwelling  in  the 
secret  places  of  the  earth,  and  hath 
command  over  the  snow  and  the  hail, 
and  is  as  a  pestilence  to  the  poor  man  : 
for  when  he  is  hungry  he  lifteth  up 
the  lid  of  his  meal-garnel,  to  take  out 
meal,  and  lo !  it  is  full  of  strong  ice. 

22  And  the  second  was  a  little  blind 
spirit,  which  hath  a  number  upon  his 
forehead ;  and  he  walketh  to  and  fro 
continually,  and  is  the  chief  of  the 
heathen  which  are  the  worshippers  of 
fire.  He  is  also  of  the  seed  of  the 
prophet,  and  ministered  in  the  temple 
while  he  was  yet  young ;  but  he  went 
out,  and  became  one  of  the  scoffers. 

23  But  when  these  spirits  heard  the 
words  of  the  man,  and  perceived  his 
trouble,  they  gave  no  ear  unto  his  out- 
cry, neither  listened  they  to  the  voice 
of  his  supplication. 

24  And  they  laughed  at  the  man 
with  a  loud  laughter,  and  said  unto 
him,  Lo,  shall  we  leave  our  digging 
into  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  or  our 
ice,  or  our  fire,  with  which  we  deceive 
the  nations,  and  come  down  to  be  as  it 


were  servants  unto  thee  and  these  two 
beasts,  which  are  lame  beasts,  and  un- 
profitable ?  Go  to,  man,  seek  thou 
them  which  are  thy  fellows. 

25  And  they  vanished  from  his  sight ; 
and  he  heard  the  voice  of  their  laugh- 
ter, both  he  and  his  two  beasts. 

26  "^  But  when  the  spirits  were 
gone,  he  said  unto  himself,  I  will  arise 
and  go  unto  a  magician  which  is  of 
my  friends :  of  a  surety  he  will  devise 
some  remedy,  and  free  me  out  of  all 
my  distresses. 

2Y  So  he  arose  and  came  unto  that 
great  magician  which  hath  his  dwell- 
ing in  the  old  fastness,  hard  by  the 
river  Jordan,  which  is  by  the  Border. 

28  And  the  magician  opened  his 
mouth  and  said,  Lo !  my  heart  wisheth 
thy  good,  and  let  the  thing  prosper 
which  is  in  thy  hands  to  do  it : 

29  But  thou  seest  that  my  hands  are 
full  of  working,  and  my  labour  is  great. 
For,  lo,  I  have  to  feed  all  the  people 
of  my  land,  and  none  knoweth  whence 
his  food  Cometh ;  but  each  man  open- 
eth  his  mouth,  and  my  hand  filleth  it 
with  pleasant  things. 

30  Moreover,  thine  adversary  also  is 
of  my  familiars. 

31  The  land  is  before  thee:  draw 
thou  up  thine  hosts  for  the  battle  on 
the  mount  of  Proclamation,  and  defy 
boldly  thine  enemy,  which  hath  his 
camp  in  the  place  of  Princes  ;  quit  ye 
as  men,  and  let  favour  be  shown  unto 
him  which  is  most  valiant. 

32  Yet  be  thou  silent:  peradven- 
ture  will  I  help  thee  some  little. 

33  But  the  man  which  is  crafty  saw 
that  the  magician  loved  him  not.  For 
he  knew  him  of  old,  and  they  had 
had  many  dealings ;  and  he  perceived 
that  he  would  not  assist  him  in  the 
day  of  his  adversity. 

34  So  he  turned  about,  and  went 
out  of  his  fastness.  And  he  shook  the 
dust  from  his  feet,  and  said,  Behold,  I 
have  given  this  magician  much  money, 
yet  see  now,  he  hath  utterly  deserted 
me.*  Verily,  my  fine  gold  hath  per- 
ished. 


*  Scott  and  Constable  long  had  intimate  relations,  as  author  and  publisher  ;  but,  taking 
VOL.  I.  B 


XXVI 


HISTOKY    OF   BLACKWOOD  S   MAGAZINE. 


35  But  -when  he  had  come  back 
unto  his  house,  he  found  the  two  beasts 
which  were  yet  there ;  and  behold  the 
beasts  were  gabbling  together,  and 
making  much  noise.  And  when  he 
looked  in,  behold  yet  another  beast; 
and  they  were  all  gabbling  together. 

36  Now  the  other  beast  was  a  beast 
wliich  he  loved  not.  A  beast  of  bur- 
den which  he  liath  in  his  courts  to 
hew  wood  and  carry  water,  and  to  do 
all  manner  of  unclean  things.  His 
face  was  like  unto  the  face  of  an  ape, 
and  he  chattered  continually,  and  his 
nether  parts  were  uncomely.  Never- 
theless, his  thighs  were  hairy,  and  the 
hair  was  as  the  shining  of  a  satin  rai- 
ment, and  he  skipped  with  the  branch 
of  a  tree  in  his  hand,  and  he  chewed 
a  snail  between  his  teeth. 

37  Then  said  the  man.  Verily  this 
beast  is  altogether  unprofitable,  and 
whatsoever  I  have  given  unto  him  to 
do  he  has  spoiled :  he  is  a  sinful  thing, 
and  speaketh  abominably:  his  doings 
are  impure,  and  all  people  are  aston- 
ished that  he  abideth  so  long  within  my 
gates. 

38  But  if  thou  lookest  upon  him 
and  observest  his  ways,  behold  he  was 
born  of  his  mother  before  yet  the 
months  were  fulfilled,  and  the  sub- 
stance of  a  living  thing  is  not  in  him, 
and  his  bones  are  like  the  potsherd 
which  is  broken  against  any  stone. 

39  Therefore  my  heart  pitieth  him, 
and  I  wish  not  that  he  utterly  famish- 
ed ;  and  I  give  unto  him  a  little  bread 
and  wine  that  his  soul  may  not  faint ; 
and  I  send  him  messages  unto  the 
towns  and  villages  which  are  round 
about;  and  I  give  him  such  work  as 
is  meet  for  him. 

40  But  if  we  go  forth  to  the  battle, 
let  him  not  go  with  us. 

41  For  behold  the  griffin  hath  here- 
tofoi-e  wounded  him,  and  the  scorpion 
hath  stung  him  sorely  in  the  hips  and 
the  thighs,  and  also  in  the  face. 


42  Moreover,  the  eagle  of  heaven 
also  is  his  dread,  and  he  is  terrified  for 
the  flapping  of  liis  huge  wings,  and  fur 
his  cry,  which  is  like  the  voice  of  an 
unknown  tongue,  also  his  talons,  which 
are  sharper  than  any  two-edged  sword. 

43  And  if  it  cometh  to  pass  that  he 
seeth  them  in  the  battle,  he  will  not 
stand,  but  surely  turn  black  and  flee. 

44  Therefore  let  us  not  take  him 
with  us,  lest  he  be  for  an  ensample 
unto  the  simple  ones. 

45  And  while  he  was  yet  speaking, 
behold  he  heard  a  knocking  upon  the 
stair,  as  if  yet  another  beast  had  been 
stirring. 

46  And  lo,  it  was  even  so. 

47  And  another  beast  came  in, 
whose  disease  was  the  murrain,  who 
had  eyes  yet  •  saw  not,  and  whose 
laughter  was  like  the  laughter  of  them 
whose  life  is  hidden,  and  which  know 
not  what  they  do. 

48  And  I  heafd  a  voice  cry,  Alas! 
alas  !   even  as  if  it  were  Heu  !  lieu ! 

46  Now  the  man  was  sick  at  heart 
when  he  perceived  that  he  was  there 
with  the  four  beasts,*  and  he  said. 
Wretched  man  that  I  am,  who  shall 
deliver  me  from  the  weight  of  beasts 
which  presseth  sore  upon  me  ? 

50  Then  the  four  beasts  waxed  very 
wroth,  and  they  all  began  for  to  cry 
out  against  the  man  which  is  crafty. 

51  And  he  said,  0  race  of  beasts, 
be  ye  still,  and  keep  silence  until  I 
consider  what  shall  be  done  in  this 
matter. 

52  And  while  he  spake,  it  seemed 
as  if  he  trembled  and  were  afraid  of 
the  four  beasts  and  of  the  staves  where- 
with they  skipped. 


B 


CHAPTER  IV. 

XJT  while  he  was  yet  trembling,  lo, 
there  came  in  one  which  was  his 


offence  at  some  expression  of  Constable's  partner,  Scott  employed  Blackwood  as  his  publisher 
greatly  to  the  annoyance  and  loss  of  "  The  Crafty."    After  a  time,  Constable  resumed  his 
relations  with  Scott,  and  they  were  continued,  until  the  Panic  of  1825  caused  Constable's  bank- 
ruptcy and  Scott's  ruin. — M. 
*  I  am  unable  to  say  who  were' the  two  other  "  beasts  "  here  introduced.— M. 


THE    CIIALDEE    MANUSCKIPT. 


XXV 11 


familiar  friend  from  his  youth  upwards, 
who  keepeth  the  books  of  the  scribes, 
and  is  hired  to  expound  things  which 
he  knoweth  not,  and  collecteth  toge- 
ther the  remains  of  the  wise  men. 

2  And  he  opened  his  mouth  and 
said,  Lo,  I  have  come  even  this  hour 
from  the  camp  of  the  enemy,  and  I 
have  spoken  with  the  man  whose 
name  is  as  ebony. 

3  And  while  I  was  speaking  with 
him  kindly,  lo,  some  of  the  creatures 
which  are  within  his  gates  took  notice 
of  me,  and  they  warned  him.  So  he 
put  no  faith  nor  trust  in  me. 

4  But  take  thou  good  heed  to  thy- 
self, for  they  that  are  against  thee  are 
mighty,  and  I  have  seen  their  num- 
bers. 

5  Now  when  the  man  heard  this, 
he  waxed  yet  more  fearful. 

6  Then  there  came  into  his  cham- 
ber another  of  his  friends,  one  whose 
nose  is  like  the  beak  of  a  bird  of  prey, 
whose  mouth  is  foul,  and  his  teeth 
reach  from  the  right  ear  even  unto  the 
left ;  and  he  said.  For  why  art  thou  so 
cast  down  ?  be  of  good  cheer ;  behold 
I  have  an  old  breastplate  which  I  will 
put- on,  and  go  forth  with  thee  unto 
the  battle. 

7  And  further,  he  began  to  speak  of 
the  north,  and  the  great  men  of  the 
north,  even  the  giants,  and  the  painted 
folk,  but  they  stopped  him,  for  of  his 
speaking  there  is  no  end. 

8  Then  there  came  into  his  chamber 
a  lean  man,  which  hath  his  dwelling 
by  the  great  pool  to  the  north  of  the 
New  City  ;* 

9  Which  had  been  of  the  familiars 
of  the  man  in  plain  apparel  while  they 
were  yet  youths,  before  he  had  been 
tempted  of  the  man  which  is  crafty  ; 

10  Whose  name  had  gone  abroad 
among  the  nations  on  many  books, 
even  as  his  father's  name  had  gone 
abroad  : 

11  One  which  delighteth  in  trees, 
and  fruits,  and  flowers  ;  the  palm-tree 
and  the  olive,  the  pomegranate  and 
the  vine,  the  fig  and  the  date,  the  tulip 
and  the  lily ; 


12  Which  had  sojourned  in  far  lands, 
gathering  herbs  for  the  chief  position. 

13  And  he  had  a  rotten  melon  on 
his  head,  after  the  fashion  of  an  helmet. 

14  And  the  man  which  is  crafty  be- 
gan to  take  courage  when  his  friends 
were  gathered  unto  him,  and  he  took 
his  trumpet  with  boldness,  and  began 
to  blow  for  them  over  which  he  had 
power. 

15  But  of  them  which  listened  to 
him,  their  limbs  were  weak,  and  their 
swords  blunt,  and  the  strings  of  their 
bows  were  moist. 

16  Nevertheless  he  made  an  assem- 
blage of  them  over  against  the  mount 
of  Proclamation:  and  these  are  the 
names  of  his  host,  and  the  number  of 
his  banners,  whom  he  marshalled  by 
the  mount  of  Proclamation  the  day 
that  he  went  forth  to  make  war  upon 
the  man  whose  name  is  as  ebony. 

1*7  Now  behold  the  four  beasts  were 
in  the  first  band,  yet  they  trembled, 
and  desired  not  to  be  in  the  front  of 
the  host. 

18  And  in  the  second  band  was  one 
which  teacheth  in  the  schools  of  the 
young  men,  and  he  was  clad  in  gray 
garment  whereof  one-half  his  wife  had 
weaved. 

19  Also,  Samuel,  a  vain  young  man, 
and  a  simple,  which  sitteth  in  the 
King's  Courts,  and  is  a  tool  without 
edge  in  the  hands  of  the  oppressors. 

20  Also,  John,  the  brother  of  James, 
which  is  a  man  of  low  stature,  and 
giveth  out  merry  things,  and  is  a  lover 
of  fables  from  his  youth  up. 

21  Also,  James,  the  young  man  which 
cometh  out  of  the  west  country,  which 
feareth  God,  and  hateth  all  manner  of 
usury ;  who  babbleth  of  many  things, 
and  nibbleth  the  shoe-latchets  of  the 
mighty;  one  which  darkeneth  counsel 
with  the  multiplying  of  vain  words; 

22  To  whose  sayings  no  man  taketh 
heed. 

23  And  in  the  third  band  were  a 
grave  man,  even  George,  the  chief  of 
the  synagogue,  a  principal  man,  yea, 
the  leader  of  the  doctors,  whose  beard 
reaclieth  down  unto  his  girdle; 


♦  This  "  lean  man  "  was  Peter  Hill,  a  bookseller  in  Edinburgh.— M. 


XXVlll 


HISTORY    OF   SLACKWOOD  S    MAGAZINE. 


24  And  one  David,  which  dwelleth 
at  the  corner  as  thou  goest  up  to  the 
place  of  the  old  prison-house,  which 
talketh  touching  all  manner  of  pic- 
tures and  graven  images  ;  and  he  came 
■with  a  feather  on  his  head.* 

25  And  Andrew  the  chief  physician, 
and  Andrew  his  son,f  who  is  a  smooth 
man,  and  one  which  handleth  all  wind 
instruments,  and  boweth  himself  down 
continually  before  the  horn  which  is 
in  the  forehead  of  the  man  which  is 
crafty,  and  worshippeth  it. 

26  With  James,  the  baker  of  sweet 
breads,  which  weareth  a  green  mantle, 
which  inhabiteth  the  dwelling  of  the 
nobles,  and  delighteth  in  the  tongue 
of  the  strange  mai>. 

27  And  Peter,  who  raileth  at  his 
master. 

28  And  in  the  fourth  band  I  saw  the 
face  of  Samuel,:}:  which  is  a  mason,  who 
is  clothed  in  gorgeous  apparel,  and  his 
face  was  as  the  face  of  the  moon  shin- 
ing in  the  north-west. 

29  The  number  of  his  bands  was 
four;  and  in  the  first  band  there  were 
the  four  beasts, 

30  And  in  the  second  band  there 
were  nine  men  of  war,  and  in  the  third 
six,  and  in  the  fourth  ten. 

31  And  the  number  of  the  bands 
was  four:  and  the  number  of  them 
which  were  in  the  bands  was  twenty 
and  nine;  and  the  man  which  was 
crafty  commanded  them. 

32  And  the  screaming  bird  sat  upon 
his  shoulder. 

33  And  there  followed  him  many 
women  which  know  not  their  right 
hand  fi'om  the  left,  also  some  cattle. 


34  And  John  the  brother  of  Francis,§ 
and  the  man  which  offered  Consola- 
tion to  the  man  which  is  crafty. 

35  Also  seven  young  men,  whereof 
no  man  could  tell  by  what  name  they 
were  called.  || 

36  But  when  I  saw  them  all  gath- 
ered  together,  I  said  unto  myself,  Of  a 
truth  the  man  which  is  crafty  hath 
many  in  his  host,  yet  think  I  that 
scarcely  will  these  be  found  sufficient 
against  them  which  are  in  the  gates  of 
the  man  who  is  clothed  in  plain  ap- 
parel. 

37  And  I  thought  of  the  vision  of 
the  man  which  was  clothed  in  dark 
garments,  and  of  the  leopard,  and  the 
lynx,  and  the  scorpion,  and  the  eagle, 
and  the  great  boar  of  Lebanon,  and 
the  griffin ; 

38  The  stork,  and  the  hysena,  and 
the  beagle,  and  all  the  mighty  crea- 
tures which  are  within  the  gates  of  the 
man  in  plain  apparel. 

39  Verilj^,  the  man  which  is  crafty 
shall  be  defeated,  and  there  shall  not 
escape  one  to  tell  of  his  overthrow. 

40  And  while  I  was  yet  speaking, 
the  hosts  drew  near,  and  the  city  was 
moved ;  and  my  spirit  failed  within 
me,  and  I  was  sore  afraid,  and  I  turned 
to  escape  away. 

41  And  he  that  was  like  unto  the  mes- 
senger of  a  king,  said  unto  me,  Cry. 
And  I  said.  What  shall  I  cry  ?  for  the 
day  of  vengeance  is  come  upon  all 
those  that  ruled  the  nations  with  a  rod 
of  iron. 

42  And  I  fled  into  an  inner  cham- 
ber to  hide  myself,  and  I  heard  a  great 
tumult,  but  I  wist  not  what  it  was. 


*  Who  was  meant  by  Samuel,  John,  James,  and  George,  I  cannot  say — the  allusions  are  so 
entirely  personal  and  local.  David  was  Mr.  Brydges,  a  cloth  merchant  in  the  Old  Town,  who 
was  a  very  good  judge  of  pictures,  and  had  made  a  fine  collection. — M. 

t  The  two  Andrew  Duncans,  father  and  son,  were  eminent  physicians  in  Edinburgh  at  this 
time.     The  younger  was  author  or  compiler  of  "  The  Edinburgh  Dispensatory." — M. 

X  This  was  Samuel  Anderson,  high  among  the  Freemasons  of  Scotland.  He  was  a  wine- 
merchant,  but,  in  Brougham's  Chancellorship,  received  the  lucrative  appointment  of  Registrar 
of  the  English  Court  of  Chancery.     He  figures  in  "  The  Nootes,"  as  one  of  North's  guests. — M. 

f  John  Jeffrey,  younger  brother  of  the  critic. — M. 

Q  Nobody  knew  who  "  the  seven  young  men  "  were.  They  are  often  mentioned  through  the 
Magazine,  and  at  "  The  Noctes,"  but  there  is  no  clue  to  their  identity — if  any. — M. 


•Cliri^t^Slier  til  tlie  Ktut. 


No.  I.— AUGUST,  1819. 

We  have  just  returned  from  the  Moors  ;^  and  as  many  erroneous 
reports  of  our  proceedings  must  doubtlessly  have  been  put  into  cir- 
culation, we  do  not  see  how  we  can  do  better  than  fill  our  last  sheet 
with  an  account  of  our  shooting  excursion.  Sir  John  Sinclair  re- 
marks, that  he  has  a  more  numerous  family  than  generally  falls  to 
the  lot  of  literary  men.f  Now,  though  we  can  boast  of  no  such 
achievements,  being  to  a  man  bachelors,  yet  we  really  believe  that 
for  literati  we  are  most  extraordinary  shots — and  we  hereby  chal- 
lenge all  Scotland  for  a  dinner  at  Young's,  and  a  hundred  pounds  to 
the  erection  of  the  National  Monument.^ 

Immediately  after  the  publication  of  our  last  number,  an  unusual 
stir  and  bustle  was  observable  among  the  members  of  our  conclave. 
At  our  monthly  dinner  at  Ambrose's,  the  conversation  could  not  be 
confined  within  its  wonted  channel — and  a  continual  fire  was  kept  up, 
blazing  away  right  and  left,  much  to  the  astonishment  of  our  worthy 

*  The  first  part  of  this  article,  entituled  "The  true  and  authentic  Account  of  the  Twelfth  of 
August,  1819,"'  was  the  concluding  pa.per  in  No.  XXXIX  of  Blackwood's  Magazine.  It  is  cu- 
rious to  find  how  early  Wilson  took  up  the  idea  (carried  out  to  the  last  in  his  '•  Dies  Boreales, 
or  Christopher  under  Canvas"')  of  holding  colloquies  in  a  Tent.  It  may  be  necessary  to  add,  in 
explanation  of  a  particular  day  and  month  being  singled  out,  that  by  the  British  game  laws, 
grouse  shooting  does  not  commence  until  the  I'ith  August,  partridge  shooting  on  1st  Septem- 
ber, and  pheasant  shooting  on  the  1st  October,  in  eacli  year. — jM. 

t  Sir  John  Sinclair,  the  greatest  rural  economist,  perhaps  (because  the  most  practical),  that 
Great  Britain  can  boast  of,  was  partly  author  and  wholly  editor  of  the  Statistical  Account  of 
Scotland,  the  most  minute  account  of  a  kingdom  ever  piiblished.  His  writings  on  a-gricultural 
and  financial  science,  extending  over  sixty  years  (he  died,  aged  82,  in  lj;35),  were  distinguished 
for  their  good  sense.  His  family  was  numerous— thirteen  children  surviving  him.  In  his 
Hints  on  Longevity,  he  mentions  one  fact  as  the  result  of  his  inquiries  among  aged  people — 
that,  whether  they  went  to  bed  sober  or  drunk,  at  early  even-tide,  or  long  past  the  small  hours, 
all  the  long-lived  persons  whom  he  knew,  male  or  female,  had  invariably  been  early  risers. — M. 

t  Young's  Tavern,  in  High-street,  Edinburgh.  The  locale  was  by  no  means  a  pleasant  one, 
but  most  of  the  young  wits  of  the  city,  including  the  Society  called  the  Dilettanti,  used  to 
frequent  it.  The  Dilettanti,  in  1319,  had  John  Wilson  for  "their  president,  and  among  the 
members  were  Allan,  Schetky,  Nicholson  and  Baxter,  artists  ;  Lockhart,  Peter  Robertson,  now  a 
Scottish  Judge,  and  many  more,  then  in  early  manhood,  who  have  since  attained  eminence. 
Young's  was  such  a  small,  smoky,  dingy  place,  that  it  was  commonly  called  '• 'I'he  Coflin- 
Hole."  Lockhart  denounced  it,  in  "  Peters'  liCtters,"  as  '•  situated  in  one  of  the  filthiest  clones 
in  the  city  of  Edinburgh,"  where  visitors  had  to  "  brave  with  heroic  courage  the  risk  of  an 
impure  baptism  from  the  neighboring  windows."  "^hat  is  called  the  National  IMonument 
stands  on  Galton  Hill,  Edinburgh,  and  is  an  unfortunate  attempt  to  imitate  the  Parthenon  of 
AShens.  It  is  unfinished.  The  part  erected  consists  of  thirteen  columns,  on  the  west  side,  each 
of  which  cost  £1,000.  They  were  put  up  between  ]824  and  1830,  and  are  not  deficient  in  pic- 
turesque grace.  The  object  of  the  monument  was  to  commemorate  those  Scotchmen  who  had 
fallen  in  bailie  during  the  war  with  Napoleon. — M. 
VOL.    I.  1 


2  CHRISTOFHEK   IN   THE  TENT.  [Aug. 

publisher,  who  generally  graces  by  his  presence  these  our  lunar 
orgies.  Not  a  word  was  uttered  about  "Articles."  Don  Juan  was 
(for  the  time)  silently  sent  to  the  devil* — cold  water  was  thrown  in 
a  moment  on  all  the  Lake  Poets — and  a  motion  was  put  from  the 
chair,  and  carried  by  acclamation,  that  the  first  man  who  smelt  of  the 
shop  should  undergo  a  tumbler  of  salt  and  small  beer.  Ambrose 
was  astonished  ! !  ! 

About  midnight  it  was  decided,  that  a  letter  should  be  written  by 
the  editor  to  Lord  Fife,f  requesting  a  week's  shooting  for  himself  and 
the  eight  principal  supporters  of  Blackwood's  Magazine,  with  permis- 
sion to  pitch  a  Tent  on  the  Twelfth  on  his  Lordship's  moors,  at  the 
head  of  the  Dee.  As  from  his  Lordship's  well-known  liberality,  no 
doubt  could  be  felt  on  that  score,  it  was  resolved,  that  we  should  all 
meet  on  the  evening  of  the  11th  at  Braemar,  whither  our  tent  and 
assistants  should  be  sent  a  day  or  two  previous,  that  all  might  be  in 
good  order  on  our  arrival.  A  letter  was  also  written  to  Dr.  Peter 
Morris  of  Aberystwith,  and  Mr.  Jarvie,  Saltmarket,  Glasgow,  order- 
ing their  attendance.  J 

For  the  next  fortnight,  all  was  preparation.  If  a  Contributor 
showed  his  face  in  No.  17,  Prince's  Street,  ||  it  was  but  for  a  moment, 
and  "with  a  short  uneasy  motion,"  that  proved  "he  had  no  business 
there."  Our  visits  were  indeed  like  those  of  angels,  "  few  and  far 
between."  Before  the  end  of  the  month,  Mr.  Wastle  entered  the 
shop,  like  an  apparition,  in  a  pair  of  old  buckskin  breeches  furbished 
up  for  the  nonce — leather  gaiters,  in  which  his  spindle-shanks  looked 
peculiarly  gentlemanly — and  a  jean  jacket,  with  pockets  "  number 
without  number,"  and  of  all  sizes — the  main  ■  inside  one,  like  the 
mouth  of  a  sack,  and  cunningly  intended  to  stow  away  roe  or  the 
young  of  the  red  deer.     Tickler  was  excellent.     A  man  of  six  feet 

*  The  two  opening  cantos  of  Don  Jnan,  which  did  "  fright  the  isle  from  its  propriety,"  ap- 
peared in  July,  1819.  Murray,  who  had  purchased  them,  was  afraid  to  let  his  name  appear  on 
the  title-page,  as  publisher,  and  only  the  printer's  name  ("  Thomas  Davison,  Whitefriars")  was 
placed  thereon. — M. 

t  James  Duff,  Earl  of  Fife,  was  a  wealthy  man  in  1819,  with  vast  landed  estates,  in  the  Scot- 
tish counties  of  Banff,  Moray,  and  Aberdeen.  His  principal  residence  (for  he  had  several,  in- 
cluding two  castles)  was  Duff  House,  near  the  town  of  Banff,  only  part  of  which  is  built,  on  a 
plan  supplied  by  Inigo  Jone.s.  Lord  Fife  served  with  distinction  in  the  Peninsular  War,  and  is 
a  general  in  the  Spanish  army,  as  well  as  a  grandee  of  Spain.  At  one  time  he  was  on  most 
intimate  terms  with  George  IV.,  to  whom  he  lent  vast  sums,  which  have  never  been  repaid. 
The  result  of  this,  and  of  extravagant  expenditure  on  handsome  ballet-dancers  of  the  opera- 
house,  so  nearly  ruined  him,  that  he  had  to  retire  from  high  life,  to  place  his  estates  in  the 
hands  of  trustees  (in  payment  of  his  debts),  and  to  live  on  £4,0UU,  which  they  allow  him.  The 
trustees  have  done  several  harsh  things  in  his  name,  one  of  the  most  notorious  being  their  illegal 
caption  of  the  original  portrait  of  Charles  the  First,  painted  by  Velasquez,  at  Madrid,  in  1()'23, 
which  formerly  belonged  to  the  Earl's  father,  and  had  been  purchased  at  a  sale  by  Mr.  Snare, 
a  bookseller  in  E.ea4ing.  The  Scottish  judges  declared  that  the  picture  belonged  to  Mr.  Snare, 
who  brought  it  to  New  York,  in  lb52,  where  it  now  is.  All  through  Blackwood  Lord  Fife  is 
called  "The  Thane."  The  source  of  the  Dee  (a  river  famou.s  for  its  salmon,  which  runs  into  the 
sea  by  the  city  of  Aberdeen)  is  near  Mar  Lodge,  on  Lord  Fife's  property. — M. 

t  Dr.  Morris  was  the  pseudo- writer  of  "  Peter's  Letters  to  his  Kinsfolk"  (Lockhart"s  Satire  on 
the  Whigs  of  fjdinburgh  and  Glasgow),  and  Mr.  Jarvie  (a  pretended  grandson  of  Bailie  Nicol 
Jarvie,  of  '•  Rob  E,oy")  had  written  some  sarcastic  letters  to  Maga,  as>  if  from  Glasgow. — M. 

II  Blackwood's  shop,  where  Maga  was  then  published. — M. 


1819.] 


TIOKLEK HOGa ODOHERTT. 


and  a  half  looks  well  in  a  round  blue  jacket — and  if  to  that  you 
add  a  white  waistcoat  with  a  red  spot — a  large  shirt-ruffle — corduroy 
breeches  very  short  at  the  knees — grey  worsted  stockings  of  the  sort 
in  Scotland  called  "  rig  and  fur,"  and  laced  quarter  boots,  you  un- 
questionably have  before  you  the  figure  of  a  finished  Contributor.* 
The  Ettrick  Shepherd  condescended  to  show  himself  in  the  shop  only 
once  between  the  20th  of  last  month  and  the  6th  of  August,  on  which 
occasion,  he  was  arrayed  in  white  raiment  from  top  to  toe — his  hat 
being  made  of  partridge  feathers,  and  his  shoes  of  untanned  leather. 
He  was  accompanied  by  a  couple  of  very  alarming  animals,  not  un- 
apparently  of  the  canine  race — one  of  which  commenced  an  imme- 
diate attack  on  an  old  harmless  Advertiser,  while  the  other  began 
rather  unadvisedly  to  worry  the  Scotsmanf — the  consequence  of 
which,  as  was  foreseen,  has  been  hydrophobia,  and  the  brute  is  now 
chained  up.  Mr.  Odoherty  alone  went  in  his  usual  way — and  could 
not  help  smiling  at  the  Editor,  who  came  strutting  into  the  front  shop 
as  boldly  as  his  rheumatism  would  permit,  with  a  dog-whip  looking 
out  of  his  pocket,  and  a  call  hung  round  his  neck  like  a  boatswain's 
whistle. J;  As  after  a  few  minutes'  confabulation  with  Ebony,  he  hob- 
bled off  with  Daniel's  Rural  Sports  beneath  his  arm, — it  is  under- 
stood, that  Odoherty  applied  for  his  situation,  alleging  that  the  man 
would  be  for  ever  spoiled  as  an  editor  by  the  mountain-dew  of  Brae- 
mar — and  that  it  was  indeed  the  Edinburgh  Review  to  Constable's 
Magazine,  or  Lord  Bacon  to  Macvey  Napier,  that  he  would  not 
"  come  to  time."  But  it  would  be  quite  endless  to  describe  the  ap- 
pearance of  each  man  in  the  regiment,  before  we  entered  on  actual 
service — so  suffice  it  to  say,  that  it  is  now  the  evening  of  the  11th  of 
August,  and  that  our  arrival  is  anxiously  expected  at  the  Inn  of 
Braemar.  || 

*  William  Wastle,  of  that  Ilk  (which  means  "  Wastle  of  Wastle"),  was.  supplying  Maga  at 
this  time  with  a  satirical  and  de  omnibus  rebus  poem,  called  "  The  Mad  Banker  of  Amster- 
dam," in  the  Don  Juan  metre.  In  the  second  of  "Peter's  Letters"  he  is  noticed  very  fully  as  a 
living  person,  with  close  descriptions  of  his  dress,  features,  and  habits,  but  was  only  a  creation 
of  the  brain— one  of  the  many  mystifications  of  Blackwood's  Magazine.  He  is  supposed  to 
have  represented  Lockhart.  Timothy  Tickler  was  an  Edinburgh  lawyer,  named  Sym,  and 
was  Professor  Wilson's  maternal  uncle. 

fThe  Scotsman,  then  edited  by  J.  R.  McCulloch  (the  political  economist  and  Edinburgh 
reviewer,  who  contended  that  Absenteeism  was  not  injurious  to  the  country  whence  it  drew 
immense  rents,  inasmuch  as  it  did  not  matter  where  the  money  was  spent,  so  that  it  was  dis- 
bursed somewiiere  !)  was  a  newspaper,  which  was  assumed  to  be  the  organ  of  the  whig  party 
in  Edinburgh.     It  was  heavy,  but  clever,  at  that  time,  and  much  ridiculed  in  Maga. — M. 

J  Ensign  and  Adjutant  Morgan  Odoherty  was  the  well-known  Dr.  William  Maginn,  who 
contributed  largely  to  Blackwood,  from  1818  to  1830,  and  from  that  time  to  his  death,  in  184'2, 
was  the  leading  contributor  to  Eraser's  Magazine.  He  was  introduced  to  the  Tent  by  antici- 
pation, as  he  did  not  visit  Scotla.nd  until  June,  1821.  Maginn  was  one  of  the  most  versatile 
and  fertile  writers  of  modern  times. — M. 

II  BrjMUTiar  is  a  village  in  Aberdeen-shire,  not  far  from  Loch-na-gar,  the  mountain  celebrated 
by  Byron,  in  his  earliest  and  his  latest  poems — Hours  of  Idleness  and  Don  Juan.  He  describes 
it' (erroneously)  as  "  the  highest  mountain,  perhaps,  in  Great  Britain,"  and  with  eternal  snow' 
upon  its  summit.  In  18;33-'39  I  ascended  this  mnuntain  repeatedly,  and  saw  no  snow.  On  the 
summit  is  a  spring  of  ice-cold  water.  On  a  clear  day,  from  this  height,  may  be  seen  ihe  waters 
of  the  Atlantic  on  the  west,  and  of  the  German  Ocean  on  the  east.  From  the  source  of  the  Dee 
the  ascent  is  difficult  and  tedious  ;  but  so  gradual  is  the  slope  from  the  summit  to  Braemar  that 
a  pony  can  easily  ride  it.  In  this  manner  Q,ueen  Victoria,  whose  seat  of  Balmoral  is  adja- 
cent, reached  the  top  of  Loch-na-gar,  in  1S53. — M. 


4  CHRISTOPHER   IN   THE   TENT.  [Aug. 

Notwithstanding  our  rheumatism,  we  arrived  first  at  the  place  of 
rendezvous,  having  gone  direct  to  Aberdeen  on  the  top  of  the  mail, 
and  thence,  on  the  dicky  of  a  friend's  chariot,  to  Pannanich  Wells, 
from  which  we  contrived  to  pad  the  hoof  to  Braemar,  attended  by 
our  old  bitch,  than  which  a  better  never  was  shot  over,  but  which  we 
now  took  with  us  chiefly  for  companionship-sake.  We  did  not  en- 
cumber ourselves  with  a  gun,  trusting  to  Mr.  Kempferhansen  being 
soon  knocked  up,  and  being  besides,  under  the  necessity,  on  the 
twelfth,  of  looking  over  our  "  Contributors'  Box,"  which  Mr.  Wastle 
was  good  enough  to  proniise  to  bring  in  his  dog-cart.  We  had  just 
dined  and  finished  half  a  mutchkin  of  whisky-toddy,  when,  looking 
out  of  the  window,  we  beheld  beneath  us  the  Ettrick  Shepherd, 
mounted  on  a  tall  brown  horse  with  four  white  feet,  and  a  counte- 
nance equally  so,  who,  on  our  throwing  up  the  window,  turned  up 
his  large  wall-eyes,  with  a  placid  expression,  that  showed  at  once  he 
was  a  steed  quite  above  starting  at  trifles.  The  Poet's  dog,  some- 
thing between  a  Newfoundland  and  a  colley,  was  not  equally  pacific— 
but  went  to  work  on  an  old  turnspit  belonging  to  the  house,  which 
was  with  difficulty  rescued  from  his  jaws. 

During  this  temporary  disturbance  the  sound  of  wheels  was  heard, 
and  the  Shepherd,  running  to  the  gabel-end  of  the  house,  exclaimed, 
"A  Morris!  A  Morris  !"  and  there,  in  good  truth,  was  the  worthy 
Doctor  in  his  shandrydan,  with  his  man  John,  both  looking  extremely 
well,  and  formidably  appointed.  =^'  The  clock  in  the  kitchen  struck 
six.  "  Wastle  will  be  here  in  ten  minutes,"  quoth  the  Doctor,  "  if 
he  be  a  man  of  his  word,  as  I  trow  he  is."  W^hile  he  spake  the  sound 
of  a  bugle-horn  was  heard,  and  in  a  few  minutes  up  drove  Wastle,  in 
high  style,  in  his  dog-cart,  tandem  wise,  and  making  a  sweep  round 
the  court,  he  pulled  up  at  the  hall-door  to  an  inch.  We  want  nothing 
but  Tickler  and  Odoherty,  cried  the  Shepherd  ;  and,  extraordinary  as 
it  may  seem,  it  is  nevertheless  true,  that  the  words  were  scarcely  out 
of  his  mouth,  when  Tickler  rose  up  before  us,  on  a  pony  under  twelve 
hands,  so  that  he  absolutely  seemed  as  if  he  had  been  mounted  on  a 
velocipede.  Behind  him  cam.e  the  Standard-bearer,  on  a  white  horse, 
once  the  property  of.  Marshal  Soult,  but  which  fell  into  the  Adju- 
tant's hands  on  the  evening  of  Albuera's  bloody  day.  He  came  into 
the  court-yard,  side  foremost,  under  the  insidious  left  heel  of  his 
heroic  master  5  and  when  Odoherty  dismounted,  it  is  impossible  to 
tell  what  life  and  spirit  was  struck  into  the  scene  and  company 
around  from  the  clanging  of  his  fixed  spurs.  No  symptoms  yet  of 
Kempferhausen.f  Mullion,  and  Bailie  Jarvie,  who  were  to  travel  to- 

*  Dr.  Morris's  shandrydan  was  a  high  two-wheeled  gig,  drawn  by  a  ^;ingle  horse,  a.nd  with  a 
seat  for  two  persons  — M. 

t  Kempferhansen  was  the  name  assumed  by  a  contributor  who  wrote  letters  from  the  Lakes, 
descrij)tive  of  Wordsworth  and  Southey.  Robert  Pearce  GilHes.  whose  poem  of  Childe  Alarique 
obtained  more  attention  than  sale,  in  1813,  was  the  author  of  Horse  Gerrnanicae  and  Horffi  Dani- 


1819.]  THE   AEEIVAL.  5 

gether  in  a  jaunting  car  of  the  Bailie's,  which  had  been  left  on  his 
hands  by  an  Irish  gentleman  from  Belfast,  a  dealer  in  linens,  in  part 
payment  of  a  bad  debt.  The  Shepherd  laughed  at  the  idea  of  expect- 
ing them  for  several  days — as  "  give  Kempferhausen  his  pipe,"  said 
he,  "and  the  ither  twa  their  plotty,*  and  deevil  an  inch  will  they 
budge  frae  the  first  change-house  they  speer  at  in  the  Highlands." 

However,  here  were  we  assembled  in  great  force — Editor,  ^7astle, 
Morris,  Tickler,  Ettrick  Shepherd,  and  Odoherty.  As  we  pei  ceived 
that  only  the  first  of  these  gentlemen  had  dmed,  we  kept  our  "ihumb 
on  that  circumstance,  and  joined  the  dinner-party  as  if  nothing  had 
happened,  being  indeed,  in  spite  of  a  weakish  constitution  anl  con- 
firmed rheumatism,  a  sure  card  on  such  occasions.  A  gall  )n  of 
hodge-podge — the  turkey-cock  roasted — five  or  six  dozen  of  po  iched 
eggs — and  some  chops  of  rather  a  problematical  character  (though 
we  shrewdly  suspect  them  to  have  been  pork,  in  direct  oppositi  >n  to 
Odoherty,  who  swore  they  were  bull-beef)  assuaged  the  fame*^.,  or 
rather  i-abies  edendi — and  by  eight  o'clock  we  were  ready  to  s'.art 
for  the  Linn  of  Dee,f  near  which  our  Tent  had,  as  we  were  informed, 
already  been  pitched  for  two  days,  through  the  accustomed  kindness 
of  the  Thane,  who  had  ordered  his  steward,  Mr.  Harden,  to  get  it  up 
with  all  suitable  accommodations. 

As,  with  Wastle's  and  Morris'  servants,  we  were  only  eight  in  all, 
dog-cart  and  shandrydan  took  us  up,  out,  and  in,  very  comfortably, 
and  with  room  to  spare  ;  and,  as  the  nags  were  in  high  condition,  we 
made  the  tent  under  the  hour,  being  received  with  three  hearty 
cheers,  and  "  the  clans  are  coming,"  from  a  pair  of  bagpipes,  whose 
drones  were  assuredly  far  from  idle  ones.  We  returned  the  cheers 
with  spirit,  and  Wastle,  who  plays  the  bugle  in  a  way  worthy  of  the 
late  Leander  himself,  with  a  sudden  blast  startled  the  grouse  and  the 
red  deer  through  all  the  mountains  and  forests  of  Mar. 

We  found  our  Tent  pitched  on  a  smooth  greensward,  that  looked 
as  if  it  had  been  artificially  formed  among  the  tall  heather  that 
encircled  it.  It  was  placed  on  .the  confluence  of  several  valleys,  so 
that  on  whatever  side  the  canvas  was  raised,  we  had  before  our  eyes 
a  long  reach  of  the  most  magnificent  mountain  scenery.     The  clear 

CcB  in  Mg,ga,  which  first  made  Eng;land  and  America  acquainted  with  the  dramatic  writers  of 
Germany  and  Scandinavia.  He  was  a  great  sonnet- writer,  and  had  the  honor  of  having  a  son- 
net specially  addressed  to  him  by  Wordsworth,  in  lbl4.  He  was  the  first  editor  of  the  Foreign 
Quarterly  Review  (commenced  in  1S27),  wrote  Recollections  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  in  Eraser's 
Magazine,  1835-'36,  and  published  his  own  Memoirs  of  a  Literary  Veteran  in  1851. — M. 

*  Plotty  is  mulled,  or  rather  burnt  port  wine,  delectable  (as  a  night-cap)  in  the  cold  nights 
of  winter.     Claret,  so  treated,  is  not  a  bad  substitute,  but  a  double  dose  of  it  is  reqxiisite. — M. 

t  The  Linn  of  Dee  is  a  deep  circular  cavity  in  the  hard  black  rock  into  which  the  waters  fall, 
from  the  source,  and  whirl  round  and  round — a  miniature  maelstrom.  Much  of  Bjron's  child- 
hood was  passed  close  to  this,  and,  while  yet  a  very  young  boy,  he  used  to  lie  in  the  sun,  on  the 
steep  bank  which  sloped  down  to  the  Linn.  On  one  occasion  he  rolled  down  this  slope,  to  the 
horror  of  the  hand-maiden  who  attended  him,  and  expected  to  see  him  killed  in  "the  hell  of 
waters"  far  below  ;  but  a  small  shrub  caught  his  dress  as  he  was  passing,  and  saved  him. 
The  shrub  remains — when  I  saw  it,  a  tree  would  have  been  the  better  name. — M. 


6  CHRISTOPHER   IN   THE   TENT.  [Aug. 

waters  of  the  Dee  niiirraured  not  twenty  yards  off — and  one  of  those 
little  springs,  so  pleasant  to  the  Shepherd,  welled  out  from  its  hillock 
yet  closer  to  the  tent.  Here  we  found  that  excellent  fisher  Walter 
Ritchie  from  Peebles,  and  that  trusty  caddy  John  Mackay,  Frederick 
Street,  Edinburgh,  who  had  escorted  the  Adjutant's  tent,  and  many 
et  ceteras,  in  an  old  baggage-wagon  purchased  at  Jock's  Lodge,  on 
the  departure  of  the  Enniskillen  Dragoons,  and  made  as  good  as  new 
at  the  magical  coach-yard  of  Crichton.*  With  Walter  and  John  we 
were  now  ten  in  number,  while  the  Thane's  three  kilted  gillies  and 
John  of  Sky,f  whom  the  Mighty  Minstrel  had  kindly  sent  to  enliven 
our  festivities,  made  precisely  the  devil's  dozen. 

"  Hand  mora,"  there  was  no  delay.  The  shandrydan  and  dog- 
cart were  emptied  in  a  trice,  and  we  ourselves  were  particularly 
anxious  to  see  "  The  Contributors'  Box"  safely  stowed  away  among 
our  own  furniture.  Busy  as  we  all  were,  each  with  his  own  concerns, 
none  of  us  could  help  smiling  at  the  Ettrick  Shepherd,  who  imme- 
diately, on  entering  the  Tent,  had  got  astride  on  a  pretty  corpulent 
cask  of  whisky,  and  was  filling  a  jug  on  which  he  had  instinctively 
laid  his  hands.  "  It's  no  canny  to  sleep  here  a'  nicht  for  fear  of  the 
fairies  without  sainingj  ourselves,  so  we'll  e'en  pit  round  the  jug, 
and  pour  out  a  drappoch||  to  King  Lu  !"  In  a  short  time  the  Tent 
was  in  fair  array — while  Odoherty  proposed  that  we  should  see  that 
our  pieces  were  all  in  good  order,  and  to  ascertain  their  comparative 
excellence,  and  the  skill  of  the  owners,  that  we  should  fire  at  a  mark. 
We  accordingly  assembled  our  forces  for  that  purpose. 

By  some  accident  or  other  which  will  probably  never  be  explained, 
a  copy  of  the  last  part  of  the  Transactions  of  the  Royal  Society  was 
found  lying  in  the  tent.     Whether   Wastle  had  brought  it  in  his 

dog-cart but  the  thing  is  inexplicable,  so  let  it  pass.     The  volume 

was  opened  by  chance  somewhere  about  the  middle,  and  set  up  at 
forty  yards'  distance  to  be  fired  at  by  the  contributors.  The  follow- 
ing scale  will  show  the  result  of  the  trial. 

*  Ritchie  has  been  repeatedly  mentioned  in  Wilson's  writings.  The  caddies  are  a  race 
peculiar  to  Edinburgh,  coming  from  the  -wilds  of  Lochaber  and  Braemar,  whence  the  stock  is 
re-inforced.  They  are  dying  out,  but,  even  as  late  as  twenty  years  ago,  were  the  only  trusted 
and  recognized  message-bearers  in  Auld  Reekie,  knowing  every  man,  woman,  and  child  there,-— 
every  street,  lane,  and  close, — every  shop,  house,  and  staircase.  Mackay,  above  mentioned, 
was  a  real  personage,  and  mightily  elevated  of  course,  by  this  notice  in  Blackwood.  In 
"  Peter's  Letters,''  Lockhart  has  done  full  justice  to  the  caddies. — M. 

t  John  of  Sky  was  a  tall  and  stalwart  bag-piper,  who  formed  one  of  Scott's  household  at 
Abbotsford.  His  name  was  John  Bruce,  and  attired  in  full  Highland  costume,  he  used  to  play 
on  the  pipes,  stalking  up  and  down  in  front  of  the  house,  when  Scott  gave  a  set  dinner,  coming 
in  at  the  close,  to  receive  a  quaisk  (or  Celtic  wooden  drinking  vessel)  of  Glenlivet.  from  Scott's 
hand.  Saluting  the  company,  he  would  diink  off  the  contents,  about  a  quarter-pint  of  strong 
raw  spirits,  at  a  gulp,  without  moving  a  muscle  of  his  face,  and  resume  his  out-of-door 
pibrochs,  which  he  continued  until  after  twilight  had  set  in. — M. 

t  Blessing  ourselves. — Dr.  Jamieson. 

II  As  draj.pie  means  a  little  drop,  it  is  probable  that  the  Shepherd's  drappock  has  a  like 
signification. — M. 


1819,] 


BNOEING 


Trial  on  the  l\t.h  at  40  yards'  distance,  all  shooting  with  No.  4,  at  an  expanded 
volujne  of  the  Tra7isactions  of  the  Royal  Society. 


Wastle,.... 

Tickler, 

Morris, 

Odoherty, 

Ettrick  ShejDherd, 
Editor 


Wadding. 

Shot. 

Grains  put  in. 

Leaves  pierced 

Hat. 

u 

78 

40 

Card. 

If 

65 

30 

Unknown. 

H 

65 

32 

Hat 

If- 

30 

25 

Wool 

4 

0 

0 

MSS.    Article. 

2 

20 

90 

A  very  remarkable  phenomenon,  and  one  well  worthy  the  atten- 
tion of  the  Royal  Society,  was  observed  on  this  occasion.  While  the 
left  hand  page,  372,  was  riddled  to  pieces, — the  right  hand  page  did 
not  exhibit  a  single  shot.  The  cause  of  this,  we  who  are  no  philoso- 
phers are  not  able  to  explain ;  but  such  is  the  fact ;  and  on  the  page 
thus  miraculously  unhurt,  were  written  the  following  words,  "  an 
Essay  on  the  Scope  and  Tendency  of  the  Philosophical  Writings  of 
Lord  Bacon,  by  Macvey  Napier,  Esq."  Such  impenetrable  stuff 
was  it  proved  to  be.*  ^ 

By  this  time  it  had  become  rather  darkish,  and  John  of  the  Isles 
began  playing  so  sleepy  an  air,  that  it  reminded  us  of  the  house  of 
rest.  In  about  an  hour  we  were  all  fourteen  stretched  upon  our 
backs  with  our  feet  meeting,  in  the  true  campaign  fashion,  in  the 
centre  of  the  tent.  The  last  observation  that  was  uttered  came  from 
Dr.  Morris,  who  lamented  much  that  Kempferhauseii  had  not  arrived, 
as  the  moon  would  soon  rise,  and  the  young  poet  might  have  had  an 
opportunity  of  addressing  a  sonnet  to  her  in  High  Dutch.  Wastle 
indistinctly  muttered  something  in  reply,  for  the  hand  of  Morpheus 
was  passing  over  his  mouth.  Eor  our  own  part,  we  were  unable  to 
close  an  eye,  thinking  of  the  Magazine,  for,  when  we  left  Edinburgh, 
only  two  half-sheets  had  gone  to  press,  and  Mr.  Blackwood  looked 
unutterable  things- 
While  considering  what  ought  to  be  the  opening  article,  such  a 
noise  arose  as  might  have  passed  in  America,  for  a  frog  concert. 
What  a  snore !  not  one  of  the  fourteen  noses.  Lowland  or  Highland, 
Scotch,  Irish,  or  Welsh,  lay  idle.  The  sum  total  was  tremendous. 
By  degrees  our  ears  got  somewhat  accustomed  to  the  sound,  and  we 
could  distinguish  the  characteristic  snore  of  every  sleeper.  Above 
all  the  menial  and  plebeian  rhoncus  rose  the  clear  silver-nosed 
trumpet  of  Tickler,  playing  its  bold  reveille — there  was  heard  the 
equable,  but  not  monotonous,  and  most  gentlemanly  snore  of  Wastle 

*  Macvey  Napier,  who  edited  the  Encyclopedia  Britannica,  and  succeeded  Jeffrey  as  conductor 
of  the  Edinburgh  Review,  in  1829,  was  also  one  of  the  principal  clerks  of  the  Scottish  Court 
of  Session,  and  Professor  of  Conveyancinjj  in  Edinburgh  University.  lie  had  perpetrated  an 
article  on  Lord  Bacon,  which  the  Blackwood  writers  greatly  ridiculed.  He  was  a  very  decided 
Whig, — which  may  account  for  these  Tory  sneers.  Macvey  latterly  occupied  the  house  39 
North  Castle-street,  Edinburgh,  in  which  Scott  lived,  from  1798  to  July,  I82(j,  and  died  in 
1847.— M. 


8  CHRISTOPHER  IN   THE  TENT.  [Aug. 

— Dr.  Morris  snored  in  sucli  a  manner  as  he  did  mock  himself,  and 
ever  and  anon  ceased,  as  if  he  were  listening,  and  then  after  a  little 
uncertain  sniffling  as  if  tuning  his  instrument  to  concert-pitch,  broke 
out  again  into  full  possession  of  his  powers — Odoherty  betrayed  a 
good  deal  of  the  nasal  brogue  of  his  country,  for  sleeping  or  waking 
the  Adjutant  is  a  true  Milesian,  snoring  by  fits  and  starts  in  a  hurried 
and  impassioned  manner  like  a  man  dreaming  of  Feuntes  D'Onore 
or  Donnybrook  Fair* — while,  from  the  breast,  neck,  shoulders,  head 
and  nose  of  the  Ettrick  Shepherd  came  a  deep,  hollow,  grunting- 
growl,  like  that  of  the  royal  tiger,  so  admirably  described  by  Lady 
H.  in  the  last  number  of  the  Literary  and  Scientific  Journal.  When 
this  had  lasted  for  a  couple  of  hours,  sometimes  one  performer  lead- 
ing the  band,  and  sometimes  another,  we  felt  that  the  drum  of  our 
ear  could  bear  it  no  longer — so  we  picked  our  way  out  of  the  tent 
over  limbs  of  Celt  and  Saxon,  and  retired  from  the  concert-room,  to 
hear  the  music  "  by  distance  made  more  sweet."  Nearly  half  a  mile 
off,  we  heard  the 

"  Solemn  hum, 
Voice  of  the  desert  never  dumb," 

and  through  its  multitudinous  murmur  were  distinctly  audible  the 
majestic  base  of  the  author  of  the  above  lines,  and  the  pure  tenor  of 
Tickler — the  first  resembling  a  subterranean  grumble,  anc^  the  latter 
striking  on  the  ear  like  the  sound  of  iron  against  rock  in  a  frost. 
During  all  this  time,  the  moon  was  sitting  in  Heaven,  "  apparent 
queen,"  not  with  a  stoical  indifference,  as  Mr.  Southey  reports  of  her 
on.  the  night  after  Prince  Madoc  had  defeated  the  Mexicans,  but 
evidently  much  pleased  with  the  scene  below  her — -both  with  what 
she  saw  and  what  she  heard.  We  shortly  after  returned  to  the  Tent  • 
and  "  joining  at  last  the  general  troop  of  sleep,"  yfe  no  doubt  added 
one  instrumental  performer  more  to  the  grand  chorus  of  this  Musical 
Festival. 

We  do  not  pretend  to  conceal  the  fact,  that  we  felt  ourselves 
carried  in  a  dream  to  the  back  shop,  the  sanctum  sanctorum  of  No. 
17  Prince's  Street ;  and  that  we  never  thought  Mr.  Blackwood  so 
beautiful  as  in  that  vision.  But  just  as  he  had  given  us  a.  proof  to 
correct,  it  seemed  as  if  the  roof  had  flillen  in  and  crushed  us  in  the 
ruins.  We  awoke — and  found  that  Odoherty  had  fired  the  morning- 
gun,  as  a  signal.  We  buckled  on  our  armor  in  less  than  no  time, 
and  the  adjutant  was  pleased  to  say,  that  he  had  never  seen  men 
sharper  at  an  alarm  through  the  whole  course  of  the  Peninsular  war. 
"  No  fear  lest  breakfast  cool" — for  in  ten  minutes  each  -man  had 

*  "  Who  e'er  has  the  luck  to  see  Donnybrook  Fair, 
An  Irishman  all  in  his  glory  is  there* 

With  his  sprig  of  shillelah  and  sliamrock  so  green." — M. 


1819.]  EETKOSPECTION.  9 

housed  half  a  pound  at  least  of  mutton-ham,  and  a  dash  of  the  dew. 
Early  as  the  hour  was,  there  was  nothing  like  squeamishness — and  it 
must  not  be  omitted,  that  each  Contributor,  like  a  good  soldier  and 
good  citizen,  after  an  appropriate  address  by  Odoherty,  emptied  his 
quech  to  the  health  of  the  Prince  Regent.* 

Dr.  Morris,  Wastle,  and  Odoherty,  each  attended  by  a  Highland 
guide,  provided  for  them,  as  we  have  said,  by  the  munificence  of  the 
Thane,  took  their  departure  to  the  mountains  ;  the  Dr.  ascending  the 
pass  of  the  Geonly  Water,  with  a  view  to  the  ground  towards  the 
head  of  Glen  Tilt, — Wastle  taking  up  the  glen  of  the  source  of  the 
Dee,  and  the  Adjutant  meditating  a  cast  or  two  with  our  own 
favorite  bitch,  over  the  ground  behind  Mar-Lodge.  Tickler,  who 
had  never  seen  a  red  Deer,  went  to  the  forest  with  John  of  the  Isles, 
and  small  Donald  Dhu  of  Invercauld,  having,  ere  he  parted,  fixed  his 
bayonet  at  the  mouth  of  the  tent.  The  Ettrick  Shepherd,  apparently 
discouraged  by  his  last  night's  discomfiture  in  shooting  at  the  Trans- 
actions, accompanied  Walter  Ritchie  to  the  Dee,  to  try  for  a  salmon  ; 
while  we  ourselves,  along  with  John  Mackay,  remained  at  home  in 
the  tent,  to  overhaul  the  "  Contributors'  Box,"  and  if  necessary,  to 
write  a  leading  article. 

Our  friends  were  now  all  gone,  and  we  were  left  alone  in  the 
silence  of  the  morning.  Many  years  had  elapsed,  since  our  health 
had  permitted  us  to  be  among  the  mountains,  though  in  our  youth, 
we  could  have  "  trodden  the  bent,"  with  the  best  man  in  Scotland. 
Our  heart  leapt  within  us,  as  we  gazed  on  the  sea  of  mountains, 
emerging  from  the  soft  mists  in  which  they  had  been  shrouded  during 
the  night.  The  wide  and  sunny  silence  was  like  the  bright  atmosphere 
of  former  days.  And  when  the  Eagle  sailed  away  on  his  broad 
vans,  from  that  magnificent  clift"  above  the  Linn  of  Dee,  we  recol- 
lected our  own  strength,  which  we  once  thought  nothing  could  have 
tamed  ;  and  which  used  to  carry  us,  as  on  wings,  unwearied  and 
exulting,  over  heights  that  we  could  now  travel  only  in  the  dream  of 
fancy.  Here  a  twinge  of  the  rheumatism  made  us  sensibly  feel  the 
truth  of  these  reflections,  and  we  hobbled  into  our  tent  with  a  sigh  ; 
but  the  comfortable  arrangement  of  the  interior,  and  above  all  the 
jolly  cask  of  whisky,  soon  awakened  us  to  a  sense  of  the  extreme 
folly  of  repining  retrospection,  and  we  could  not  help  thinking,  that 
the  Editor  in  his  camp,  had  greatly  the  advantage  over  his  Contribu- 
tors, now  out  in  all  directions  on  foraging  parties.  | 

*  George,  Prince  of  Wales,  was  Regent,  from  February,  1811,  (when  the  confirmed  madness  of 
George  III.,  was  indisputable),  until  Janua.ry,  18-20,  when  he  became  King,  by  succession. — I\I. 

t  In  Peter's  Letters  to  his  Kinsfolk,  we,  the  Editor,  are  spoken  of  as  an  obscure  man.  a  martyr 
to  rheumatism,  and  one  who  only  draws  plans,  which  others  execute.  That  we  are  not,  so 
luminous  a  body  as  Dr.  Morris,  we  admit— and  that  we  are  a  martyr  to  rheumatism,  is  unfortu- 
nately true,  in  spite  of  the  well-known  skill  of  our  townsman,  Dr.  Balfour — but  we  beg  leave 
to  contradict  the  illustrious  Physician  of  Aberystwith  on  the  last  charge.  We  both  plan  and 
execute— and  flatter  ourselves  that  there  is  a  something  in  our  articles  that  betrays  the   hand 

1* 


10  CHRISTOPHER  IN  THE   TENT.  [Aug. 

On  opening  the  Box,  it  was  found  to  be  rich  in  various  matter — 
and  we  amused  ourselves  for  a  couple  of  hours  with  an  excellent 
article  on  the  National  Monument — one  on  Bait-Fishing — and  an- 
other "  on  the  Mechanism  of  the  Foot  and  Leg."*  While  reading 
the  last,  we  heard  the  noise  of  wings,  and  going  to  the  mouth  of  the 
tent,  saw  a  numerous  pack  of  grouse  sit  down  close  to  the  little 
spring  already  mentioned.  We  are  no  poachers — but  it  must  not 
be  expected  that  a  martyr  to  rheumatism  is  to  be  bound  by  the  same 
rules  with  sportsmen  who  have  the  free  use  of  their  limbs.  We 
accordingly  took  up  Hogg's  double  barrel,  and  let  fly  at  the  pack  as 
they  were  all  sitting  together  in  a  snug  family-party — and  before 
they  could  recover  from  their  confusion,  we  repeated  the  salutation. 
John  Mackay  went  leisurely  forward — and  returned  with  five  brace 
and  a  half  of  as  fine  young  birds  as  might  be  looked  at — and  the  old 
cock.  We  maintain  that  no  man  is  entitled  to  form  an  opinion  of 
our  conduct  in  this,  who  has  not  suffered  under  confirmed  rheumatism 
for  ten  years  at  least,  or,  which  is  as  well,  under  the  gout  for  five.f 

John  Mackay  had  scarcely  got  the  birds  hung  up  by  the  legs,  when 
we  were  considerably  alarmed  by  loud  shouts  or  yells  from  the 
river  side,  which  we  knew  to  be  from  the  Shepherd — and  running 
down  as  expeditiously  as  our  knee  would  permit^  we  found  that  the 
Bard  had  hooked  a  Fish.  There  was  he  capering  along  the  some- 
what rugged  banks  of  the  Dee,  with  his  hair  on  end,  and  his  eyes 
sticking  out  of  his  head,  holding  the  butt-end  of  his  rod  with  both 
hands  in  perfect  desperation. 

"  Fit  statue  for  the  court  of  fear  !" 

Walter  Eitchie  ever  and  anon  "  his  soul-subduing  voice  applied" 
close  to  his  ear,  instructing  him  how  to  act  in  this  unexpected 
emergency  ;  and  above  all  things,  imploring  him  to  get  the  better  of 
his  fright !  Unluckily  the  Shepherd's  reel-line  was  too  short,  so,  to 
prevent  the  salmon  from  running  it  out,  he  was  under  the  necessity 
of  following  him  up  close  at  the  heels.     At  every  plunge  the  fish 

of  the  Editor.  Dr.  Morris,  who  had  never  seen  us  when  he  published  his  "Letters,"  has  since 
apologised  to  us  in  the  handsomest  manner,  both  for  his  unfounded  charge  of  obscurity  and 
incapacity,  but  we  wish  also  that  the  world  should  know  it.  We  hear  that  several  other 
persons,  equally  opaque  as  ourselves,  have  taken  it  grievously  to  heart,  that  the  Doctor  has 
overlooked  them  altogether,  and  attempt  to  carry  their  heads  very  high  when  his  name  is 
mentioned.  Such  persons  may  be  said  to  belong  to  the  High  School. — See  Gray'.s  Elegy, 
"And  leave  the  world  to  darkness  and  to  me." — C.  N. 

*  These  articles  actually  did  appear  in  the  current  No.  of  Blackwood.  The  first  strongly 
urged  that  the  suggested  National  Monument  on  Calton  Hill,  should  consist  of  a  restoration  of 
the  Parthenon.  The  second,  professedly  written  by  one  Peter  McFinn,  was  a  graphic  account 
of  a  fishing  excursion  in  Dumfrieshire,  with  remarks  on  bait-fishing.  The  third  was  a  very 
amusing  review  of  Dr.  John  Cross's  book  On  the  Mechanism  and  Motions  of  the  Human  Leg 
and  Foot.— M. 

t  We  have  been  so  long  out  of  the  sporting  world  that  we  scarcely  know  what  the  public 
feeling  is  on  subjects  of  this  kind.  We  remember  an  old  gentleman  long  ago,  when  we  had  a 
shooting  box  in  Northamptonshire,  who  always  shot  hares  sitting,  on  the  principle  that  it  was 
moredi^cult  to  shoot  them  in  that  situation  !     Wo  despise  all  such  sophistry. — C.  N. 


1819.]  HOGG   AND   THE   SALMOIT.  1] 

made — at  every  rush  he  took,  the  Shepherd  was  fearfully  agitated — 
and  floundered,  stumbled,  fell  and  recovered  himself  again  among  the 
large  round  slippery  stones,  in  a  manner  wondrous  to  behold.  For 
a  man  of  his  years,  his  activity  is  prodigious.  "Look  there,  Mr. 
Editor !  There  is  a  Leading  Article  for  you  !"  Scarcely  had  he 
spoken,  when  the  fish  took  a  sullen  fit,  and  sinking  to  the  bottom,  lay 
there  like  a  log, 

"  Rolled  round  in  earth's  diurnal  course 
With  rocks  and  stones  and  trees !" 

The  Shepherd  seemed  truly  thankful  for  this  short  respite  from 
toil,  and  helping  himself  cautiously  to  a  pinch  of  snufi*,  handed  over 
the  mull*  to  us  with  that  air  of  courteous  generosity  observable  on 
such  occasions.  At  length  he  became  desirous  of  another  heat,  but 
the  salmon  would  not  budge,  and  the  Shepherd,  forgetting  how  much 
he  stood  in  awe  of  the  monarch  of  the  flood  when  he  was  in  motion, 
began  insulting  him  in  the  grossest  manner  in  his  repose.  Finally, 
he  proposed  to  us  to  strip  and  dive  down  to  alarm  him,  some  fifteen 
or  twenty  feet — a  modest  proposal  to  a  man  of  fiftyf — an  editor — 
and  a  martyr  to  the  rheumatism.  Here  the  fish  darted  oflT  like  light- 
ning, and  then  threw  a  somerset  many  feet  in  the  air.  Though  this 
was  what  the  Shepherd  had  wished,  it  seemed  not  to  be  what  he  had 
expected,  and  the  rod  was  twitched  out  of  his  grasp,  as  neatly  as  at  a 
match  of  single  stick.  Walter  Ritchie,  however,  recovered  the  wea- 
pon, and  returned  it  to  its  master  yet  standing  in  blank  discomfiture. 
His  pride  did  not  allow  him  to  decline  it — though  it  was  apparent 
that  he  would  have  exchanged  situations  with  Mazeppa  or  John 
Gilpin. 

But  why  prolong  the  agitating  narrative  ?  Suffice  it  to  say,  that 
after  a  chase  of  two  miles  down  the  Dee,  and  from  an  observation  of 
the  sun's  altitude  of  two  hours'  duration,  the  salmon  gave  in — and 
came  unexpectedly  to  shore.  There,  on  the  green  turf,  lay  salmon 
and  Shepherd,  both  quite  exhausted,  and  with  scarcely  any  symptoms 
of  life.  They  reminded  us  of  one  of  those  interesting  scenes  in  Bor- 
der History,  where  two  gallant  foemen  lie  side  by  side — or  like  one 
of  those  no  less  interesting  scenes  in  coursing,  where  greyhound  and 
hare  are  stretched  gasping  together  on  the  wold.  The  Fish  gave  his 
last  convulsive  bound  from  the  sod,  and  the  shepherd,  with  a  faint 
voice,  cried,  "  take  care  o'  yoursels  or  he'll  lame  some  o'  you" — but 
his  fears  were  groundless,  for  Waltar  Ritchie  had  already  given  him 

*  A  mull  is  a  Scotch  snufF-box,  made  out  of  a  rani's-horn,  polished,  and  fitted  with  a  cover, 
often  embellished  with  a  silver  setting,  on  which  is  fixed  acairn-gorm,  or  Scotch  topaz. — M. 

t  At  this  time,  the  Editor  of  Blackwood  had  neither  assumed  the  name  of  Christopher 
North,  nor  quite  decided  what  his  age  should  be.  A  man  of  5'),  in  161  S,  would  have  been  born 
in  1769.  Subsequently,  the  j'ear  1754  was  given  as  the  actual  date,  which  would  have  made 
Kit  North  Q5,  at  the  time  he  and  his  colleagues  were  at  Braemar.  'I'hroughout  the  "  Noctes." 
he  is  represented  as  in  venerable  old  age,  and  must  have  been  SI  when  they  closed,  in  1835. — M. 


12  CHEISTOPHEK   IN   THE  TENT.  [Aug. 

the  coup  de  graoe,  and  holding  him  up  by  the  gills,  pronounced  his 
eulogy  with  a  simple  pathos,  worthy  of  better  times,  "  a  brave  fish  ! 
de'el  tak  me  ginna  he  binna  twenty  pun  weight !" 

The  first  thing  the  shepherd  said,  on  coming  to  himself,  was,  "  gude 
save  us,  I  wou'd  gie  half  a  croon  for  a  gill  o'  whusky  !"  The  sun, 
however,  had  dissolved  the  mountain-dew — so  we  had  to  return  (a 
distance  of  nearly  three  miles)  to  our  tent,  within  the  coolness  of  whose 
shadow  we  knew  some  of  the  "  tears  of  the  morning"  were  to  be 
found. 

On  entering  the  tent,  only  judge  of  our  surprise  when  we  found 
Kempferhausen,  Mullion,  and  Jarvie,  tearing  away  tooth  and  nail  at 
the  "  Branxy,"*  and  gulping  down  the  aqua  vitce  as  if  it  had  been 
small  beer  !  The  swallow  of  the  young  German,  in  particular,  was 
prodigious ;  and  much  must  he  have  astonished  the  Westmoreland 
peasantry,  when  in  training  to  write  his  celebrated  letters  from  the 
Lakes.  He  assured  us  that  he  had  ate  little  or  nothing  for  three 
days,  which  seemed  to  us  but  a  partial  avowal  of  the  truth,  for  his 
present  voracity  could  only  have  been  satisfactorily  accounted  for  on 
the  theory  of  a  fast  for  three  weeks.  That  excellent  actor  Jones,  in 
Jeremy  Diddler,  was  a  mere  joke  to  him.f  Mullion  made  a  masterly 
meal  of  it ;  while  of  Jarvie  it  is  sufficient  to  say,  that  he  upheld  the 
high  character  of  a  citizen  of  Glasgow.  We  introduced  the  Shepherd 
to  Kempferhausen  and  Jarvie  (Mullion  being  an  old  acquaintance) , 
and  nothing  could  be  more  amusing  than  the  contrast  of  the  Glasgow 
and  the  Hamburgh  maimer.  Jarvie  got  into  such  glee,  that  he  abso- 
lutely began  to  "  trot"J  the  shepherd  round  the  room ;  but  James 
was  soon  up  to  him,  and  played  off  in  his  turn  upon  the  bailie,  assert- 
ing with  meritorious  gravity  of  face,  that  he  had  shot  the  salmon  with 
a  single  ball,  at  the  distance  of  half  a  mile,  as  he  was  rashly  attempt- 
ing, with  his  tail  in  his  mouth,  to  leap  the  Linn  of  Dee. 

It  was  now  wearing  on  to  two  o'clock,  and  it  is  not  to  be  denied, 
that  though  "  no  that  fou,"  we  had  got  "  a  drappy  in  our  ee," — though 

*  Branxy  is  the  name  given  to  mutton  hams  made  from  the  sheep  that  have  died  of  their 
own  accord,  or  met  with  some  fatal  accident  among  the  mountains.  It  is  quite  superior  to  any- 
other,  both  in  flavor  and  nutriment.  It  is  a  perquisite  of  the  shepherds;  and  in  this  instance 
we  had  it  warranted  sound  by  the  head  of  Lord  Fife's  pastoral  establishment.  The  best  we 
ever  ate  was  at  Dugald  Campbell's,  Esq.  of  Achlian,  Argyllshire. —  C.  N. 

t  Richard  Jones,  commonly  called '' (jentleman  Jones,"  was  a  great  favorite  at  the  Edin- 
burgh theatre,  as  comedian,  and  finally  settled  in  London,  where  he  died  afew  years  ago,  after 
having  realized  a  large  fortune  as  a  teacher  of  elocution. — M. 

jTo  trot  means  to  hoax.  It  used  to  be  much  practised  in  Glasgow,  and  also  at  Bolton,  in 
Lancashire.  A  famous  Bolton  trot  was  the  wager  with  one  "  in-  verdure  clad,"  that  he  would 
not  put  one  of  his  feet  into  hot  water,  and  keep  it  therein  as  long  as  a  certain  Boltonian  who 
was  present.  The  trial  was  made,  then  and  there.  Both  plunged  a  stocking-covered  leg  into 
a  tub  of  boiling  water.  The  '-Bolton  fellow"  appeared  entirely  unaffected  by  the  increased 
temperature:  the  other  instantaneously  withdrew  his  ;)m,  dreadfully  scalded,  and  paid  the 
dozen  of  wine  which  he  had  lost.  When  the  party  were  on  the  last  bottle,  the  green  young 
gentleman  was  informed  and  shown,  that  it  was  his  opponent's  cork  leg  which  had  competed 
with  his  own,  of  flesh  and  bone.  This  was  a  thorough  trot — equivalent  to  a  modern  neli !  In 
Lancashire,  by  the  way,  the  inhabitants  of  certain  towns  are  characteristically  designated  as 
'•  Liverpool  gentlemen,  Manchester  men,  Wigan  chaps,  and  Bolton  fellows." — M. 


1819.]  TICKLER — HOGG ODOHEETT.  13 

it  was  more  owing  to  the  heat  of  the  sun  and  the  salmon-hunt  than 
anything  else,  that  we  found  any  difficulty  in  preserving  our  equilib- 
rium. Kempferhausen  and  Hogg  were  prodigiously  great,  and  we 
overheard  the  foreigner  vowing  that  he  would  publish  a  German 
translation  of  the  Queen's  Wake ;  while,  in  another  corner  of  the 
Tent,  and  with  the  whisky  quech  placed  before  us  on  the  Contribu- 
tors' box,  we  and  Jarvie  were  "  unco  kind  and  couth  thegither,"  and 
the  Bailie  solemnly  promised  us  before  winter,  his  article  entitled 
"The  devil  on  Two  Sticks,  on  the  Top  of  the  Ram's  Horn."* 

While  matters  were  thus  going  on,  Walter  Ritchie  came  hastily 
into  the  Tent,  and  let  us  know  that  "  four  strange  gentlemen"  were 
making  the  best  of -their  way  towards  us,  over  the  large  stones  and 
loose  rocks  of  a  heathery  hill  behind.  In  a  few  minutes  'he  ushered 
two  of  them  in.  They  were  a  brace  of  smart  springals  enough, 
with  no  small  portion  of  self-assurance  and  nonchalance.  "  My 
name,"  quoth  the  tallest,  "  is  Seward  of  Christchurch,  and  this  is 
BuUer  of  Brazennose."t  We  had  heard  something  of  Oxford  ease 
and  affluence,  and  indeed  reckon  more  than  one  Oxonian  among  our 
contributors ;  but  without  seeing  it,  we  could  not  have  credited  the 
concentration  of  so  much  self-satisfaction  in  any  one  individual  of  the 
species  as  in  this  avowed  Seward  of  Christchurch.  "  Cursed  com- 
fortable marque,  Biiller,  and  plenty  of  prog  ; — come,  my  old  boy, 
tip  us  a  beaker  of  your  stingo."  "  Pray,"  replied  we,  "  may  I  ask 
which  of  you  is  the  Brazennose  man  f  "  Ha !  Buller,  to  be  sure, 
Buller  of  Brazennose  ! — first-class-man,  sir — devilish  clever  fellow; — 
allow  me  to  introduce  him  to  you  more  particularly,  sir  -.—This,  sir, 
is  Bob  Buller  of  Brazennose — first-class-man,  sir,  both  in  Litt.  Hum. 
and  Class.  Phys. — their  crack-man,  sir,  since  the  days  of  Milman.| 
But  pray,  sir,  may  I  ask  to  whom  I  have  the  honor  of  address- 
ing myself?"  "  Why,"  replied  we  politely,  but  with  dignity, 
"  Mr.  Seward,  we  are  the  veiled  Editor  of  Blackwood's  Magazine  !" 
"  The  veiled  Editor  of  Blackwood's  Magazine !  By  the  scythe 
of  Saturn  and  all  that  is  cutting  !  my  worthy  old  cock  !  Lend  me 
your  feelers,  Buller — isn't  he  as  like  old  Gaisford  as  two  pigs  1  Mr. 
Editor,  you  know  Gaisford — damned  good  fellow — one  of  the  well- 
booted  Greeks." — "  It  is  my  misfortune,  sir,  never  to  have  seen  Mr. 
Gaisford,  but  I  have  a  copy  of  his  Hepheestion."!!     Here  we  chanced 

*  The  "  Ram's  Horn''  is  the  name  of  a  church  in  Glasgow,  from  the  top  of  whose  spire  the  De- 
vil on  Two  Sticks  would  unquestionably  have  a  commanding  bird's-eye  view  of  that  city. — C.  N. 

t  Buller,  of  Brazennose  College,  Oxford,  was  John  Hughes,  (who  really  belonged  to  Oriel,) 
and  author  of  an  Itinerary  of  the  Rhone.  He  was  a  great  friend  of-  Ainsworth,  the  novelist, 
Thomas  Ingoldsby  (the  Rev.  Richard  Harris  Barham,  a  member  of  the  same  college),  and  The- 
odore Hook.     There  was  no  representative,  to  my  knowledge,  of  Seward. 

t  When  a  student  at  Oxford  wins  the  highest  honors,  at  the  degree-examination,  in  classics 
and  science,  he  is  called  "  a  double  fir.st" — as  conqueror  in  both.  The  late  Sir  Robert  Peel  was 
so  distinguished.  The  Rev.  Henry  Hart  Milman  I'lere  mentioned,  was  a  Brazennose  man,  and 
is  now  Dean  of  St.  Paul's  Cathedral,  London.  He  has  written  much  in  prose  and  verse — 
chiefly  dramatic  in  the  latter,  of  which  his  play  of  '■'•  Fazio'"  is  the  only  one  on  the  stage.— M. 

II  The  Rev.  Dr.  Thomas  Gaisford,  Dean  of  Christchurch,  Oxford,  since  1S31,  was  appointed 
Regius  Professor  of  Greek  in  1811. — M. 


14  CHKISTOPHER   IN   THE   TENT.  '     [Aug. 

to  look  around  us,  and  saw  the  faces  of  the  Shepherd,  Mullion,  and 
Jarvie,  close  to  each  other,  and  all  fixed  with  various  expressions  of 
fear,  wonder,  and  astonishment  on  Mr.  Seward  of  Christchurch  ! 
They  kept  cautiously  advancing  towards  him  inch  by  inch,  somewhat 
in  the  style  of  three  Arctic  Highlanders  towards  Captain  Ross  on  his 
supposed  descent  from  the  moon  ;  Jarvie  bent  down  in  a  crouching 
attitude,  with  his  hands  on  his  knees,  like  a  frog  ready  to  make  a 
spring ;  Mullion,  with  one  fist  on  his  chin,  and  the  other  unconsciously 
clawing  his  head,  while  his  broad  purple  flice  was  one  gleam  or  rather 
"  glower"  of  curiosity  ;  and  the  Shepherd  with  his  noble  buck  teeth, 
displayed  in  all  their  brown  irregularity,  like  a  seer  in  a  fit  of  second 
sight.  "  Whare  the  deevil  cum  ye  frae  f  quoth  the  Shepherd.  "Ha, 
ha !  Buller,  here  is  a  rum  one  to  go."  On  this  we  introduced  the 
Shepherd  to  the  Oxonians,  as  the  author  of  the-  Queen's  Wake,  Pil- 
grims of  the  Sun,  &c.,  and  in  return,  with  some  difficulty  explained 
to  him  in  what  part  of  the  globe  Oxford  stood,  and  to  what  purpose 
it  was  dedicated,  though  on  this  latter  point  we  did  not  seem  to  make 
ourselves  very  intelligible.  "  Weel,  weel,  gentlemen,"  continued  the 
Shepherd,  "  I'se  warrant  your  twa  big  scholars,  but  hech  sers,  there's 
something  about  you  baith  that  is  enough  to  mak  ane  split  their  sides 
with  laughing.  Buller  o'  Brazennose,  1  ne'er  heard  the  like  o'  sic  an 
a  name  as  that  in  a'  my  born  days,  except  it  were  the  Bullers  o'  Bu- 
chan."*  Then  the  Shepherd  put  his  hands  to  his  sides,  and  burst 
into  a  long  loud  triumphant  guffaw. 

Meanwhile,  we  had  wholly  forgotten  the  other  two  "strange 
gentlemen,"  and  found  that  they  were  sitting  outside  the  tent. 
Wastle  very  politely  asked  them  in ;  one  was  a  dapper  little  fellow, 
but  as  pale  as  death ;  and  had  his  left  hand  wrapt  up  in  a  handker- 
chief The  other  was  tall  and  lusty,  but  with  a  face  of  vulgar 
effeminacy,  and  altogether  breathing  rather  offensively  of  a  large 
town.  "  My  name  is  Tims,"  piteously  uttered  the  small  pale  dapper 
young  man  ;  and  my  two-barrelled  gun  has  cracked,  and  carried  away 
my  little  finger,  and  a  ring  that  was  a  real  diamond.  I  bought  it  at 
Bundle  and  Bridges."!  "  They  calls  me  Price,"  said  the  dandy  ;  "  a 
nephy  of  the  late  Sir  Charles  Price,  that  was  o'  Lunnun ;  and  I  am 
come  down  into  Scotland  here  to  shoot  in  these  hereabout  parts." 

*  The  Bullers  of  Buchan,  in  Aberdeenshire,  are  among  the  wonders  of  Scotland.  They  are 
near  Slaine's  Castle,  the  residence  of  the  Earl  of  Errol,  and  are  remarkable  for  the  noise  and 
force  with  which,  at  a  certain  state  of  the  tides,  the  sea-water  is  driven  up  throu^^h  a  sort  of  well- 
like cavity  in  a  rock.  When  Dr.  Johnson  was  in  Scotland,  the  Bullers  especially  attracted  his 
attention. — M. 

t  Originally,  this  Mr.  Tims  was  as  much  a  real  character  as  Wastle  or  Mullion,  but  on  the 
appearance,  (as  a  translaition  from  the  French  of  Vi.scount  Victoire  de  Soligny.)  of  a  tour  in 
England,  the  wits  of  Blackwood  insisted  that  their  own  cockney,  Tims,  had  written  it,  and 
ever  afterwards,  in  the  '•  Noctes,"  and  out  of  it,  spoke  of  Tims,  as  "  the  Wicount  Wictoire.- 
The  jewellers,  Rundell  and  Bridges,  whom  he  names,  were  the  leading  jewellers  in  London 
for  many  years,  (their  shop  was  on  Ludgate  Hill,  near  St.  Paul's  Cathedral,)  and  the  wife  of 
Mr.  Rundell  was  authoress  of  the  famous  cooking-book,  of  which,  between  lyll  and  1^54, 
about  five  million  copies  have  been  sold.     Sir  Charles  Price  was  a  London  banker. — M. 


1819.]  THE   GAME-BAGS.  15 

During  this  explanation,  the  Oxonians  did  not  deign  to  look  towards 
the  Cockneys,  but  Seward  kept  humming  "  the  bold  dragoon,"  and 
the  "  first  class  man  both  in  Litt.  Hum.  and  Class  Phys.,"  M^hose 
voice  we  had  not  yet  heard,  was  peeping  somewhat  inquisitively  into 
the  quechs,  jugs,  and  bottles,  and  occasionally  applying  one  or  other 
of  them  to  his  mouth,  without  meeting  any  suitable  return  to  his 
ardor. 

We  at  length  found  that  the  Oxonians  and  the  Cockneys  had  left 
the  Spittal  of  Glenshee  by  sunrise,  in  two  totally  distinct  parties. 
But  that  the  geography  of  so  wild  a  country  as  Scotland,  not  being 
much  known  either  in  Oxford  or  the  City,  both  had  got  bewildered 
aniong  the  everlasting  hills  and  valleys,  till,  as  their  good  luck  would 
have  it,  they  had  joined  forces  within  half  a  mile  of  our  Tent.  A 
bumper  of  whisky  gave  a  slight  tinge  of  red  to  the  cadaverous  phiz  of 
Tims  ;  and  Price  got  quite  jaunty,  pulling  up  the  collar  of  his  shirt 
above  his  ears,  which,  you  may  well  believe,  were  none  of  the  shortest. 
Nothing  could  be  more  amusing  to  us,  than  the  ineffable  contempt 
with  which  Christchurch  and  Brazennose  regarded  Cheapside  and 
Ludgate  Hill ;  though,  to  say  the  truth,  the  two  former  seemed  just 
as  much  out  of  place  as  the  latter,  among  the  wilds  of  Braemar ; 
while,  in  spite  of  all  we  could  do,  to  divert  the  conversation  from 
such  subjects,  Seward  kept  perpetually  chattering  of  Jack  Ireland, 
little  Jenkins  of  Baliol,  the  Dean,  the  great  Tom  of  Christchurch,  and 
other  literary  characters  of  credit  and  renown. 

The  Shepherd,  eager  to  put  a  stop,  if  possible,  to  these  mystical 
allusions,  requested  to  see  what  the  gentlemen  had  got  in  their  bags, 
and  Messrs.  Tims  sCnd  Price  silently  submitted  theirs  to  the  scrutiny. 
James  put  his  hand  boldly  in — as  well  he  might — for  the  lean  sides  of 
the  wallet  plainly  showed  that  there  was  no  danger  of  his  being  bitten, 
and  it  was  seen  by  the  expression  of  his  face,  on  withdrawing  his 
arm,  how  truly  nature  abhors  a  vacuum.  Mr.  Tims  stood  on  high 
ground,  for  he  had  burst  his  gun  the  first  fire,  and  Mr.  Price 
declared,  that  though  in  other  respects  a  finished  sportsman,  he  had 
never  till  that  day  fired  a  shot.  Mr.  Seward  then  called  on  his  man, 
by  the  facetious  appellation  of  "  Katterfelto,"  "  to  bring  the  spoil," 
and  a  knowing  knave  immediately  emptied  a  huge  bag  containing 
two  brace  of  "  chirpers"  (pouts  evidently  taken  by  the  hand),  and,  to 
the  petrifaction  of  the  spectators,  an  enormous  Fox.  Tims  and  Price 
eyed  the  animal  with  intense  curiosity,  and  on  hearing  its  name,  the 
latter  declared  that  though  he  had  now  hunted  with  the  Surrey- 
hounds  for  six  years,  he  had  never  caught  a  view  of  reynard,  and 
would  think  his  journey  to  Scotland  well  repaid  by  the  sight  of  an 
animal  which  he  had  long  given  up  all  hopes  of  ever  beholding  on 
this  side  of  the  grave.  Seward  told  him,  (it  was  the  first  time  he 
had  ever  deigned  to  address  the  Cockney)  that  he  was  welcome  to 


16  CHRISTOPHER   IN   THE   TENT.  [Aug. 

Mr.  Fox,  only  he  begged  leave  to  retain  the  brush  ;  and  Price  leapt 
at  the  offer,  declaring  he  would  have  him  stuffed,  and  placed  at  the 
winder  of  his  Box  at  Hanlpstead. 

"  That's  the  Captain's  lauch,"  quoth  the  Shepherd,  and  forthwith 
entered  Odoherty,  picturesquely  ornamented  with  moorfowl,  snipes, 
and  flappers,  all  dangling  round  his  waist,  as  one  might  suppose  as 
many  scalps  round  an  Indian  warrior.  His  fine  features  were  stained 
with  gunpowder  and  blood,  and  Mr.  Tims  had  nearly  fainted  away. 
"  Allow  me,  gentlemen,  to  introduce  Timothy  Tickler,  Esq.,"  said 
the  Standard-bearer,  and  in  a  trice  he  stood  before  us  in  all  his 
altitude.  His  musket,  with  the  bayonet  fixed,  was  in  his  hand,  and 
over  his  shoulders  hung  a  young  roe  which  he  had  slain  in  the  forest. 
Even  Sew^ard  of  Christchurch,  and  Buller  of  Brazennose,  stood 
astounded  at  the  apparition.  "  By  the  ghost  of  Dinah  Gray,  Buller, 
there  are  more  things  in  heaven  and  earth  than  are  dreamt  of  in 
Aristotle's  philosophy."  '^ There,  Mr.  Editor,"  quoth  Tickler,  "is 
John  Roe — Richard  Doe  has  escaped  mortally  wounded  ;"  and  with 
that,  he  threw  down  the  creature  at  our  feet.  At  that  moment  was 
heard  the  bugle-horn  of  Wastle  ;  and  by  the  time  "  that  a  man  with 
moderate  haste  might  count  a  thousand,"  he  and  the  physician 
were  in  the  tent.  "  My  dear  friend,  Dr.  Morris !"  "  What, 
Buller  of  Brazennose  !"  The  meeting  was  most  cordial ;  but  the 
heat  of  the  tent  was  quite  insupportable,  being  about  96  of  Henry 
Watson's  thermometer — so  it  was  proposed  by  Tickler  to  adjourn 
to  the  antechamber,  whose  dimensions  could  not  easily  have  been 

12  3  4 

..-aken.     We  mustered  very  strong — Editor,  Wastle,  Morris,  Tickler, 

5  6  7  8  9  10 

Odoherty,  Shepherd,  Jarvie,  MuUion,    Kempferhausen,  Seward  of 

11  12  13  14^ 

Christchurch,  Buller  of  Brazennose,  Tims,  Price,  John  of  Sky,  Lord 

17  18  19  20 

Fife's   three   gillies,    Walter    Ritchie,   John    Mackay,    Katterfelto, 

21  22  26 

Buller's  valet,  the  Cockney's  Londoner,  four  Highlanders  from  the 

27  28 

Spittal  of  Glenshee,  Peter's  man  John,  Wastle's  man  Thomas. 

It  was  altogether  a  most  animating  scene ;  and  it  is  incredible  in  how 
short  a  time  one  kind  and  genial  spirit  seemed  transferred  through 
so  great  a  body  of  men.  "  It's  all  the  world  like  the  coffee-room  o' 
Glasgow  about  four  o'clock,"  said  Jarvie  ;  "  but,  ochone,  they'll  be  no 
punch — none  o'  Provost  Hamilton's  best  here."  John  Mackay 
informed  us,  that  he  and  his  assistants  were  all  at  work,  and  that  in 
an  hour  and  a  half  dinner  would  be  on  the  table.  "  But  hae  ye 
killed  ony  thing,  doctor,"  quoth  the  Shepherd.  Here  Peter's  man 
John,  and  Walter  Ritchie,  cam.e  forward,  dragging  several  bags  along 


1819.] 


ANTE-PKANDIAL.  17 


with  them,  which  disembogued  a  brown  flood  of  grouse,  that  over- 
flowed many  yards  of  the  sod.  Mr.  Tims  could  not  believe  his  eyes, 
when  he  saw,  counted  before  them,  thirty -seven  brace.  "  There  are 
thirty  brace  mair  o'  them,"  said  Watty  Ritchie,  "  scouring  for  the 
pan."     So  much  for  Wastle  and  Morris. 

The  whole  party  now  retired  to  their  toilette,  and  most  of  us 
performed  our  ablutions  in  the  limpid  Dee.  We,  the  Contributors, 
had  greatly  the  advantage  over  the  Oxonians  and  the  Cockneys, 
whose  wardrobe  was  at  the  Spittal  of  Glenshee  ;  and  we  could  not 
help  observing,  that  when  we  ourselves  returned  to  the  tent  in  a  full 
suit  of  black,  little  the  worse  for  the  gentle  wear  of  three  years 
Sundays,  we  were  looked  at  with  a  pleasant  surprise,  and,  if  possible, 
an  increased  admiration,  not  only  by  Tims  and  Price,  but  also  by 
Seward  of  Christchurch,  and  Buller  of'Brazennose. 

When  we  all  assembled  again,  furbished. and  figged  up,  we  made  a 
splendid  figure  on  the  mountain-side;  and  rarely  had  the  heather 
waved  over  a  finer  body  of  men  since  the  days  of  Fingal.  It  is  true, 
that  most  of  us  were  too  sharp-set  fully  to  enjoy  the  magnificence  of 
the  prospect.  Yet  it  made  itself  be  felt.  Many  hundred  stupendous 
mountains  towered  up  into  the  cloud-piled  sky  over  a  wide  horizon 
— nor  was  it  easy  to  distinguish  earth  from  heaven  as  they  lay 
blended  together  in  that  sublime  confusion.  The  dark  pine-forests 
of  Mar  stretched  off*  into  the  dim  and  distant  day,  overshadowing 
rock  and  precipice  ;  and  in  the  blue  misty  hollows  of  the  hill,  we  knew 
that  unseen  tarns  and  lakes  were  lying  in  their  solitary  beauty. 
Scarce  visible  in  the  dark  blue  sky,  an  eagle  was  heard  yelling  in 
wild  and  sullen  fits  ;  and  when  one  gazed  up  to  his  flight,  it  was  a 
grand  feeling  to  imagine  the  boundless  expanse  of  earth,  sea,  and  sky, 
that  must  then  have  been  submitted  to  the  ken  of  the  majestic  Bird. 

Our  readers  will  observe,  that  the  above  little  bit  of  description  is 
not  our  own,  but  copied  out  of  Kempferhausen's  journal ;  and  we 
think  it  not  so  much  amiss,  considering  that  it  was  pencilled  under  a 
severe  fit  of  the  toothache.  One  hour  in  the  drawing-room  before  din- 
ner is  longer  than  three  in  the  dining-room  after  it,  and  this  we  all  ex- 
perienced, while  lying  on  the  greensward  before  our  tent.  Even  the 
unwearied  wit  of  Tickler,  who  lay  stretched  "  many  a  rood"  among 
the  heather,  was  beginning  to  lose  its  charm,  when  Wastle's  man 
Thomas,  a  comely  varlet  about  his  master's  age,  advanced  with  the 
ceremonious  air  of  a  true  butler  of  the  old  school,  and  announced  that 
dinner  was  on  the  table.  Never  did  thunder  follow  the  lightening  so 
instantaneously,  as  we  all  leapt  up  on  this  enunciation ;  and  on 
looking  round,  we  found  ourselves  in  the  chair,  supported  by  Wastle 
and    Morris — while   Tickler   was    seated    croupier,*    supported    by 

*  Croupier^ — vice-chairman.     Probably  derived  from  two  men  riding  on  a  horse,  in  which 
case  one  must  sit  on  the  croup,  or  loins  of  the  animal,  i.  e.  occupy  a  secondary  or  infirm  position. 


18  CHEISTOPHER   IN   THE   TENT.  [Aug. 

Odoherty  and  Buller  of  Brazennose.  A  principle  of  the  most 
beautiful  adaptation  and  fitness  of  parts  seemed  undesignedly  to 
regulate  the  seating  of  the  whole  party ;  and  we  especially  observed 
how  finely  the  High-street  face  of  Seward  of  Christchurch  contrasted 
itself  with  the  Cowgate  face  of  the  Shepherd  on  the  one  hand,  and 
the  Saltmarket  oneof  Jarvie  on  the  other — while  that  of  Tims  looked 
quite  pale  and  interesting  between  the  long  sallow  countenance  of 
Kempferhausen  and  the  broad  rubicundity  of  Mullion. 

By  what  magical  process  the  dinner  had  been  cooked  we  know 
not ;  but  a  fine  cut  of  salmon  lay  before  the  chair ;  while  Tickler 
cried,  with  a  loud  voice,  "Dr.  Morris,  shall  I  help  you  to  some  roe- 
soup  f  On  the  middle  of  the  table,  midway  between  Mullion  and 
Jarvie,  was  an  immense  tureen  of  grouse  soup,  composed,  as  Peter's 
man  John  declared,  with  uplifted  hands  and  eyes,  of  fifteen  brace  of 
birds !  Placed  at  judicious  intervals,  smoked  trenchers  of  grouse 
roasted,  stewed,  and  grilled — while  a  haunch  of  John  Doe  gave  a 
crown  and  consummation  to  a  feast  "fit  for  the  Immortal  Gods. 

The  party  had  just  been  helped  to  grouse  or  roe-soup,  when  a  card 
was  handed  to  the  Chairman  (we  shall  henceforth  substitute  Chair- 
man in  place  of  Editor)  with  the  single  word,  A  Contributor,  writ- 
ten upon  it  in  large  characters.  We  left  our  seat  for  an  instant  to 
usher  in  the  Great  Unknown.  It  was  Dr.  Scott,  the  celebrated 
Odontist  of  Glasgow.^  He  was  still  seated  on  his  famous  white 
trotting  pony,  with  his  legs  boldly  extended  in  ultra-dragoon  fashion 
from  its  sides,  and  his  armed  heels  so  much  depressed,  that  his  feet 
stood  perfectly  perpendicular  with,  elevated  toes,  and  exposed  to  our 
gaze  those  well-known  broad  and  formidable  soles  which  could  belong 
to  no  other  living  man  but  the  doctor.  On  his  head  was  a  hat  white 
as  snow,  and  in  circumference  wide  as  a  fairy-ring  on  a  hill-side — his 
portly  frame  w^as  shrouded  in  a  light-drab  surtout,  and  his  sturdy 
limbs  in  trowsers  of  the  purest  milled  cord,  which,  by  the  action  of 
riding,  had  been  worked  up  to  his  knees,  and  considerately  suffered 
the  eye  to  rest  on  a  pair  of  valuable  top-boots  spick  and  span  new  for 
the  occasion — no  unworthy  successors  they  to  those  of  the  Ettrick 
Shepherd,  now  no  more.  A  green  silk  umbrella  was  gorgeously  ex- 
panded over  the  illustrious  Odontist,  who,  having  remained  a  full 
minute  in  all  his  pride  of  place,  that  we  might  have  leisure  to  con- 
template the  fulness  of  his  perfections,  furled  his  banner  in  a  style 
worthy  of  the  Adjutant  himself;  and  shouldering  it  as  if  he  had  been 
serving  in  the  Scotch  Fusileers,  exclaimed,  "  You  didna  ask  me  to 
your  tent,  ye  deevil,  but  here  I  am,  in  spite  of  your  teeth.  I  heard 
o'  you  at  Gordon  Castle,t  and  I  hae  just  come  up  to  keep  ye  a'  right 

*  This  Scott,  whom  it  pleased  North  to  call  Doctor,  and  pass  off  as  a  miracle  of  wit  and  learn- 
ing, was  an  obese  odontist  (or  dentist)  in  Glasgow,  eminent  fornothing  beyond  tooth-drawing, 
except  punch-drinking. 

+  In  Aberdeenshire.  It  was  the  seat  of  the  Duke  of  Gordon  ;  and  Willis,  who  visited  it,  haa 
dtscribed  it  in  his  Pencillings  by  the  Way.— M. 


1819.]  THE    SQUAB  ASH.  19 

and  tight,  ye  nest  o'  veepers."  We  assured  the  Doctor  that  his 
^honest  face  was  always  a  welcome  contribution  to  us,  and  that  we  had 
not  asked  him  to  join  the  party,  solely  from  a  feeling  of  compassion 
to  his  patients.  The  doctor's  boy  now  ran  up  to  assist  his  respected 
master  to  dismount,  in  a  livery  of  blue  and  red,  and  a  smart  cock- 
ade ;  for  the  doctor  had  been  a  soldier  in  his  youth,  and  performed 
many  signal  acts  of  valor  in  the  green  of  Glasgow,  along  with  the  An- 
derston  Volunteers,  when  that  fine  body  of  operatives  were  com- 
manded by  the  gallant  Colonel  Geddes,  and  the  invincible  Major 
Cross.  "  Gentlemen,  Dr.  Scott  from  Glasgow," — when  such  a  shout 
arose  as  can  only  be  described  to  those  not  present  by  its  effects. 

"So  far  was  heai'd  the  mighty  knell, 
The  stag  sprung  up  upon  the  fell, 
Spread  his  broad  nostril  to  the  wind, 
Listed,  before,  aside,  behind — 
Then  couched  him  down  beside  the  hind — 
And  quaked  among  the  mountain  fern, 
To  hear  that  sound,"  <fec. 

The  Doctor  was  soon  seated ;  and  the  drab  surtout  being  felt  rather 
close,  he  imitated  the  fashion  of  Lady  Heron  in  Marmion,  and 

"  It  all  for  heat  was  laid  aside." 

"  Hoo  are  a'  the  people  o'  the  West  V  quoth  Jarvie,  delighted  to  see 
a  Glasgow  face  in  so  high  a  northern  latitude.  "  Just  as  you  left 
them,  Bailie — a'  breaking  clean  aff  by  the  stump — There's  scarcely 
a  house  I  wad  uphald  langer  than  a  loose  tooth — it's  just  a'  ae  gene- 
ral squabashP'' 

A  short  pause  succeeded  ;  and  in  the  silence  of  the  tent  nothing 
was  heard,  save  the  clattering  of  knives  and  forks — the  clashing  of 
trenchers — the  smacking  of  lips — and  occasionally  those  long  deep 
sighs  of  full  and  perfect  enjoyment,  that,  be  our  theoretical  creed 
what  it  may  concerning  the  summum  bonum,  are  ever  felt  to  breathe 
out  the  very  inmost  soul  of  all  earthly  felicity. 

Just  then  arose  outside  of  the  tent  such  a  throttling  noise  of  un- 
numbered dogs,  that  had  Earl  Walter,  the  wild  huntsman,  been  a 
daylight  vision,  we^  must  have  expected  to  see  him  now  realized. 
Amidst  the  savage  growl  were  heard  the  loud  curses  of  Celt  and 
Saseiiach,  maddening  the  fray  which  they  sought  to  assuage.  "  Demme 
if  the  Highland  curs  be  not  murdering  my  Juno,"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Seward  of  Ciiristchurch,  "  I  would  not  lose  her  for  the  Indies — she 
was  bred  by  Jack  Burton  !"  We  had  our  own  suspicion  that  Mr,  Con- 
stable's brown  bitch  was  at  the  bottom  of  all  this  disturbance — but 
we  found  it  impossible  to  discover,  in  this  general  "  colleshangi/"'^  its 

*  See  again  Dr.  Jainieson. 


20  CHRISTOPHER  IN   THE  TENT.  [Aug. 

prime  mover.  Mr.  Price  declared  himself  at  ease  about  the  issue 
of  this  conflict,  as  he  had  purchased  his  dog  Randal  from  Bill  Gib- 
bons,* and  a  better  never  entered  a  ring.  The  Shepherd  did  not 
allow  this  bravado  to  pass  unnoticed — and  we  are  almost  confident 
that  we  heard  him  through  the  din  offering  to  fight  his  Hector  against 
the  '"Southron  dog,  for  a  gallon  o'  whisky  and  a  haggis!"  Mean- 
while almost  a  score  of  dogs  were  fiercely  at  work  among  the  heather 
— nor  could  we  help  contrasting  with  the  agitated  action  of  the  rest 
of  the  party,  the  cool  composure  of  Morris,  the  calm  curiosity  of 
Wastle,  and  the  eager  ecstasy  of  Tickler,  who,  standing  together  on 
•a  rock  elevated  above  the  scene  of  action,  might,  perhaps,  be  com- 
pared to  Bonaparte  and  his  staff  witnessing  the  Great  Battle  from 
the  observatory  on  the  heights  of  Mont  St.  Jean. 

Order  was  at  last  restored — and  all  the  dogs  came  shaking  their 
ears  close  to  the  heels  of  their  respective  masters — some  of  them 
piteously  limping,  and  others  licking  their  wounds,  which  were  so 
numerous  that  it  would  have  required  Monsieur  Larreyf  himself  to 
bind  them  all  up  on  the  field  of  battle.  But  a  scene,  if  possible,  of 
yet  greater  confusion  was  at  hand.  A  strong  body  of  Celts,  collected 
among  the  mountains  towards  the  Spittal  of  Glenshee,  advanced, 
with  a  most  hostile  demonstration,  to  the  tent,  and  demanded  £20  for 
the  slaughter  committed  among  their  flocks  by  the  outlandish  dogs 
of  the  four  English  Gentlemen.  We  drew  up  our  forces  in  battle 
array,  to  repel  the  threatened  charge  of  these  fierce  mountaineers — 
ourselves  commanding  in  the  centre,  Odoherty  on  the  right  wing,  and 
Dr.  Scott  on  the  left.  On  seeing  this,  the  enemy  took  up  a  position 
in  our  rear,  as  if  wishing  to  cut  off  our  retreat  to  Braemar.  Being 
averse  to  the  unnecessary  effusion  of  blood,  we  sent  off,  with  a  flag 
of  truce,  (a  sprig  of  heather  in  a  bottle  of  whisky)  a  deputation  to 
the  enemy's  camp,  consisting  of  the  Shepherd  and  Walter  Ritchie  as 
Assessors,  and  Jolin  Mackay  as  Interpreter,  to  estimate  the  damage. 
On  the  return  of  the  deputation  we  found  that  only  one  sheep  had 
been  worried,  and  an  old  tup  severely  wounded.  The  fact  seemed 
to  be  clearly  brought  home  to  Mr.  Price's  dog  Randal,  and  to  Mr. 
Tim's  dog  Flash — and  "  as,  by  the  laws  of  this  and  every  other  well- 
governed  realm,  the  crime  of  murder,  more  especially  when  aggra- 
vated, &c.,  is,  &c.,"  preparations  were  instantly  made  for  carrying  the 
law  into  effect.  Indeed,  no  other  expiation  but  blood  for  blood 
seemed  likely  to  pacify  the  exasperated  Highlanders.  Tickler,  how- 
ever, interceded  for  the  lives  of  both  culprits,  maintaining,  in  favor 
of  Randal,  that  he  was  born  and  bred  a  fighting  dog,  and  that,  there- 
fore, to  put  him  to  death  for  such  an  offence  as  this  now  laid  to  his 
charge,  would  be  to  fly  in  the  very  face  of  nature.  His  defence  of 
Flash  was  not  equally  successful — and  indeed  it  terminated  with  be- 

*  A  London  pugilist  of  some  notoriety. — M.         t  Napoleon's  favorite  surgeon. — M. 


1819.]  PRAITDIAJL.  21 

seeching  the  jury  to  recommend  him  to  mercy.  But  he  took  occa- 
sion, at  the  same  time,  to  observe,  that,  in  point  of  law,  Mr.  Tims 
might  recover  the  price  from  Haggart.  Here  Mr.  Odoherty  ex- 
pressed some  doubts  as  to  Mr.  Tim's  success  before  the  Sheriff,  main- 
taining that  a  dog-seller  is  not  liable  to  repayment  of  the  price  on  a 
dog's  fondness  for  mutton  being  discovered,  unless  special  warrandice 
from  that  particular  vice  is  expressly  given.  Tickler,  on  the  other 
hand,  was  clearly  of  opinion,  that  a  fair  price  infers  warrandice  of 
every  kind,  besides  steadiness  to  fur,  feather,  and  flint.  The  full  dis- 
cussion, however,  of  this  difficult  subject  was  reserved  for  a  future 
occasion — nor  should  we  have  mentioned  it  now,  had  it  not  been  that 
both  Tickler  and  Odoherty  are  such  high  authorities,  they  having 
written  the  two  best  treatises  extant  on  the  .Game  Laws.  Our  inter- 
preter by  this  time  returned  to  his  countrymen,  and  succeeded  in 
"  smoothing  the  raven  down  of  their  darkness  till  it  smiled."  They 
joined  our  party  in  an  amicable  manner,  and  we  all  ratified  the  treaty 
of  peace  over  a  flowing  quech.  Indeed,  we,  whom  it  is  not  easy  to 
humbug,  could  not  help  having  our  suspicions,  that  the  whole  story 
of  the  worried  sheep  was  got  up  for  the  occasion,  and  that  these  bash- 
ful Celts  preferred,  as  it  were,  storming  our  intrenchments  to  get  at 
the  grouse  and  whisky,  to  that  more  pacific  and  more  regular  ap- 
proach which  they  were  prevented  from  adopting  by  their  well-known 
national  modesty. 

On  returning  to  the  tent,  we  found  that  Kempferhausen  and  Buller 
of  Brazennose  had  stolen  away  from  the  scene  of  strife,  and  had  been 
for  some  time  actually  playing  a  pair  of  formidable  knives  and  forks 
on  the  grouse  and  venison,  thus  taking  the  start,  in  no  very  handsome 
manner,  of  the  rest  of  the  party,  who  had  probably  as  good  appetites, 
and  certainly  better  manners,  than  themselves.  When  we  were  all 
seated  again,  "  Pretty  well.  Master  Kempferhausen,"  cried  Odoherty, 
"for  a  young  gentleman  with  a  toothache."  Meanv/hile,  John  of  Sky 
kept'  pacing  round  the  tent,  and  from  his  bag-pipes,  ornamented  with 
a  hundred  streamers,  blew  such  soul-ennobling  din,  that  each  man  felt 
his  stomach  growing  more  capacious  within  him,  and  the  chairman 
forthwith  ordered  a  round  of  mountain-dew.  How  the  dinner  came 
at  last  to  a  termination,  we  never  could  discover ;  but  the  best  of 
friends  must  part,  and  so  felt  we  when  the  last  tureen  of  grouse  dis- 
appeared. A  slight  breeze  had  by  this  time  providentially  sprung 
up  among  the  hills ;  and  as  not  a  wind  could  blow  without  our  tent 
standing  in  its  way,  and  as  the  lower  canvas  had  been  dexterously 
furled  up  by  Odoherty,  a  grateful  coolness  stole  over  our  saloon,  and 
nothing  seemed  wanting  to  complete  our  happiness,  but  a  bowl  of 
good  cold  rum-punch.''^ 

*  Rum  punch,  made  of  one  part  of  rum  to  five  of  cold  sherbet,  is  the  peculiar  drink  of  Glas- 
gow.—M. 


22  .  CKRISTOPHER   IN   THE   TENT.  [Aug. 

We  had  not  been  so  improvident  as  to  let  the  baggage-wagon  leave 
Edinburgh  without  a  ten-gallon  cask  of  rum  (Potts  of  Glasgow),  and 
a  gross  of  lemons,  individually  lodged  in  paper;  and  Bailie  Jarvie 
had  been  busily  employed  for  some  time  past  (though  we  were  all 
too  well  occupied  to  miss  him)  in  manufacturing,  not  a  bowl,  but  a 
tub  of  punch,  from  the  waters  of  that  clear  cold  spring,  which  no 
sun  could  affect.  "I  would  like  to  lay  my  lugs  in't,"  cried  the 
Shepherd,  in  his  most  impassioned  manner,  when  the  tulD  appeared ; 
and  indeed  we  all  crowded  round  it  with  as  much  eagerness  as  ever 
we  ourselves  have  seen  .parched  soldiers  in  India  crowd  round 
an  unexpected  tank.  Dr.  Scott,  who  is  constantly  armed  at  all 
points,  requested  Peter's  man  John  to  bring  him  his  surtout,  and 
slyly  asking  Mr.  Duller  of  Brazennose  if  he  had  ever  seen  the  small 
dwarf  Caribbee  lemon,  brought  to  light,  from  the  dark  depth  of 
these  unfathomable  pockets,  half  a  dozen  ripe  marriageable  limes, 
which  we  permitted  him  to  squeeze  into  the  tub  with  all  the  grace,- 
dignity,  and  dexterity  of  a  Glasgow  Maker. 

Of  course  we  again  drank  the  Prince  Regent's  health,  and  all  the 
toasts  usual  at  public  meetings.  The  Chairman  then  rose,  and  in  a 
speech,  of  which  we  regret  it  is  impossible  for  us  at  present  to  give 
even  a  sketch,  proposed 

The  Earl  of  Fife. 

When  the  pealing  thunders  of  applause  had  in  a  few  minutes 
ceased,  Odoherty  rose,  and  with  that  charming  modesty  which  so 
sets  off  his  manifold  accomplishments,  said,  that  if  not  disagreeable  to 
the  company,  he  would  recite  a  few  verses  which -he  had  that  morn- 
ing composed,  as  he  was  drinking  a  cup  of  whisky  and  water  at  a 
spring  in  the  mountains  behind  Mar-Lodge. 


POEM. 

Recited  hy  Odoherty  at  a  Grand  Dinner-Party  of  the  Contributors,  in  their   Tent 
near  Mar-Lodge,  on  the  I2th.  of  August,  1819. 

L 
Hail  to  thy  -waters  !  softly-flowiug  Dee  1 
Hail  to  their  shaded  pure  traaspareucy  ! 
Hail  to  the  royal  oak  and  mountain-pioe, 
With  whose  reflected  pride  those  waters  shine  1 

2. 
And  hail,  ye  central  glories  of  the  plain  ! 
All  hail,  ye  towers  ancestral  of  the  Thane  I 
Clear  as  the  Scottish  stream  whose  honor  flows, 
Broad  as  the  Scottish  grove  whose  bounty  grows. 


1819.J  "  SONG    TO    A    SAI.MOH."  28 


Can  he  whose  eye  od  many  a  field  of  war 
Has  traced  the  progress  of  thy  lord,  Braemar, 
Pass,  yet  not  bless,  this  grove's  majestic  sweep, 
Where  worth  can  still  expand,  though  valor  sleep. 

4. 
Souls  of  primeval  heroes  !  nobly  won 
Is  the  repose  of  your  heroic  son  ! 
Sure  in  those  awful  hours  of  patriot  strife, 
Macbeth's  destroyer  nerved  the  soul  of  Fife. 

5. 
A  softer  influence  now  your  spirits  send 
Into  the  bosom  of  "  the  poor  man's  friend" — 
Keys,  stars,  and  crosses,  are  but  glittering  stuff; 
The  genuine  jewel  is  The  Heart  ok  Duff. 

It  is  impossible  to  conceive  what  effect  was  given  to  these  lines 
(which  are  certainly  better  than  any  of  Mr.  W.  Fitzgerald's*  or  Mr. 
James  Thomson's)  by  the  graceful  and  spirited  elocution  of  the 
Standard-bearer  ;  and  Seward  of  Christchurch,  iiow  above  all  foolish 
prejudices,  and  following  the  impulses  of  his  own  fine  classical  taste 
and  feeling,  vowed  that  he  had  never  heard  more  sweetly-pretty 
verses  recited  in  the  Sheldon  Theatre,  Oxford,  at  a  Commemoration. 
On  Odoherty's  health  and  verses  being  drunk,  that  excellent  poet 
again  rose,  and  begged  leave  to  call  upon  his  friend,  the  Ettrick  Shep- 
herd, for  a  poem  or  a  song.  Says  the  Shepherd,  "  Ye  hae  a'  eaten  a 
gude  dinner  I'm  thinking — but  recollect  it  was  me  that  killed  the 
sawmon,  and  I'll  now  gie  you  an  elegy,  or  eulogy,  on  him — deil  tak 
me   gin  I  ken  the  difference.     But  I  canna  stan',   I  maun  rece^H 


SONG    TO    A    SALMON. 
By  the  Ettrick  Shepherd. 
I. 
.Thou  bonny  fish  from  the  far  sea 
Whose  waves  unwearied  roll 
In  primitive  immensity 
Aye  buffeting  the  pole  ! 
From  millions  of  thy  silvery  kind 
In  that  wide  waste  that  dwell 
Thou  only  power  and  path  didst  find, 
To  reach  this  lonely  dell. 

*  This  is  he  of  -whom  Byron  wrote — 

"  Shall  hoarse  Fitzgerald  bawl 
His  creaking  couplets  in  a  tavern  hall  ?" 
At  the  annual  dinner  of  the  Literary  Fund,  in  London,  he  used  to  mount  on  one  of  the  tables 
and  recite  verses  of  his  own  composing,  greatly  to  the  amusement  of  all  who  heard  him.     In  the 
"  Rejected  Addresses,"  written  by  Horace  and  James  Smith,  there  is  an  excellent  parody  on 
one  of  these  compositions. — M. 


[Aug. 


24:  CHEISTOPHEK   IN  THE   TENT. 

II. 

That  wond'rous  region  was  thy  own, 

That  home  upon  the  deep — 

To  thee  were  all  the  secrets  known 

In  that  dark  breast  that  sleep — 

Thou,  while  thy  form  midst  heave  and  toss 

Had  still  the  billows  play  been, 

Perhaps  knewest  more  than  Captain  Ross, 

Or  yet  than  Captain  Sabine  * 

HI. 
Yea,  Fish  !  nor  wise  alone  wast  thou, 
But  happy — what's  far  better — 
Ne'er  did  thy  fins  to  Barrow  bow. 
They  feared  not  Croker's- letter — 
But  far  and  wide  their  strokes  they  plied 
Smooth  thro'  the  ocean  smoother, 
Nor  drab-clad  Gifford  chilled  their  pride, 
Nor  Leslie's  buff  and  blue  there.f 

IV. 

And  now,  my  Beauty  !  bold  and  well 

Thy  pilgrim-course  hath  been —    ' 

For  thou,  like  Wordsworth's  Peter  Bell, 

Hast  gazed  on  Aberdeen  ! 

And  all  those  sweetest  banks  between, 

By  Invercauld's  broad  tree, 

The  world  of  beauty  hast  thou  seen 

That  sleeps  upon  the  Dee. 

V. 
There  oft  in  silence  clear  and  bright 
Thou  layest  a  shadow  still, 
In  some  green  nook  where  with  delight 
Joined  in  the  mountain-rill, 
There,  'mid  the  water's  scarce-heard  boom, 
Didst  thou  float,  rise,  and  sink. 
While  o'er  the  breathing  banks  of  broom 
The  wild  deer  came  to  drink. 

VI. 
Vain  spariy  grot  and  verdant  cave 
The  stranger  to  detain — 
For  thou  wast  wearied  of  the  wave 
And  loud  voice  of  the  main  ; 
And  naught  thy  heart  could  satisfy 
But  those  clear  gravelly  rills, 
Where  once  a  young  and  happy  fry 
Thou  danced  among  the  hills  ! 

•  Captains  Ross  and  Sabine,  enc^aged  at  this  time  in  trying  to  discover  the  noitliwest  pas- 
sage.— M. 

f  Barrow  and  Croker  were  then  officials  in  tlie  Admiralt}'- at  Ijondon.  Gifford  edited  the 
Q,uarterly  Review,  which  has  a  drab-colored  cover,  and  Leslie  was  contributing  to  the  Edin- 
burgh, which  was  clothed  in  the  buff  and  blue  of  the  Whigs. — M. 


1819.]  ticklek's  soNa.  ^5 

VII. 
The  river  roariug  down  the  rock, 
The  fierce  and  foaming  linn, 
Essayed  to  stay  thee  with  the  shock, 
The  dark  and  dizzy  din — 
With  wilier  malice  nets  did  twist 
To  perfect  thy  undoing, 
But  all  those  dangei's  hast  Ihou  miss'd, 
True  to  thy  destined  ruin ! 

VIII. 
Sure,  no  inglorious  death  is  thine  ! 
Death  said  I  ?     Thou'lt  ne'er  die. 
But  swim  upon  a  Poet's  line 
Down  to  Eternity, — 
While,  on  bur  board,  we'll  all  allow, 
O  !  odd  Fish  bright  and  sheen  ! 
A  prime  Contributor  art  thou 
To  Blackwood's  Magazine  ! 

It  was  some  hours  before  we  could  prevail  on  any.  of  our  friends  to 
favor  us  with  another  poem  or  song,  naturally  so  much  awed  were 
they  all  by  the  splendid  efforts  of  a  Hogg  and  an  Odoherty.  At  last 
Tickler,  to  get  rid  of  unceasing  importunities  from  every  side, 
chanted  to  the  bagpipe  the  following  song,  which  excited  one  feeling 
of  regret  that  its  length  should  have  been  m  an  inverse  ratio  to  that 
of  the  sing-er. 


1. 
Though  I  rove  through  the  wilds  of  majestic  Braemar, 
'Mid  the  haunts  of  the  buck  and  the  roe, 
O  !  oft  are  my  thoughts  with  my  dear  friends  afar, 
'Mid  the  black-cocks  of  Minnard  that  go. 


O  sweet  upon  bonny  Loeh-Fyne  be  your  weather. 
As  is  mine  on  the  banks  of  the  Dee  ! 
And  light  be  your  steps  o'er  Kilberry's  braw  heather, 
As  on  Fife's  mine  own  footsteps  can  be  ! 

3. 
May  the  scent  still  lie  warm  on  the  heath  of  Argyle, 
Thy  pointers  stand  staunch,  and  unerring  thine  aim — 
As  I  bring  down  the  bird?  right  nnd  left — why  I  smile 
To  think  that  luy  friend  may  be  doing  the  same. 

4. 
Nor  your  trophies  alone  is  my  fancy  revealing  ! 
Well  I  picture  the  scores  that  have  bled 
Long — oh  !  long  ere  this  hour,  round  the  laird's  lonely  sheilint 
That  murderous  lair,  Caddenhead ! 
VOL    .1.  2 


26  CHKISTOPHER  IN   THE  TENT.  [Aug. 

5. 
Every  shot  that  we  fire,  as  it  peals  through  the  air, 
I  consider  a  kind  of  a  greeting — 

There  is  naught  of  forgetfulness,  here,  John  !  nor  there — 
Taste  your  flask  to  our  blythe  "winter-meeting  ! 

Mr.  Seward  said  he  had  never  sung  a  single  stave  in  his  life,  and 
called  on  Buller  of  Brazennose,  to  confirm  his  statement ;  but  he  said, 
that  since  the  example  of  simple  recitative  had  been  set,  he  should  not 
hesitate  to  favor  us  with  a  copy  of  verses  which  he  had  written  last 
year  for  Sir  Roger  Newdyate's  prize — subject,  the  Coliseum.  His 
verses  had  not  indeed  gained  the  prize,  but  flattering  testimony  had 
been  borne  to  their  merit  by  his  tutor,  Mr.  Goodenough,*  and  many 
other  exquisite  judges. 

THE    COLISEUM. 

Ye  circling  walls,  whose  melancholy  bound, 

In  lonely  echoes,  whisper  all  around  ! 

Ye  towers  antique,  whose  shapeless  shadows  tell 

Of  Roman  glory  the  forlorn  farewell ! 

Dark  o'er  the  sod  with  heroes'  dust  commix'd 

Ye  frown  in  monumental  silence  fix'd  ! 

Ah  1  could  a  voice  to  your  faint  forms  be  given 

By  some  supernal  sympathy  of  heaven. 

Deep  were  the  descant  of  departed  years, 

And  marble  groans  would  blend  with  nature's  tears  ! 

The  pensive  pilgi^im  bending  by  the  shrine. 

Where  all  is  mortal,  and  yet  half  divine. 

Would  mix  a  sigh  as  plaintive  as  your  own. 

O'er  the  dim  relics  of  the  splendors  gone, 

Mix  with  the  sobbings  of  the  wind-stirred  trees, 

Whose  roots  are  in  th'  imperial  palaces ! 

See ! — or  does  fancy,  from  her  fetters  freed. 

With  airy  visions  the  fond  eyeballs  feed — 

Airy,  yet  bright,  as  they  which  lore  sublime 

Drew  to  the  enthusiast  of  the  elder  time. 

In  rich  redundance  of  imparted  light, 

All  radiant,  rushing  on  the  Augur's  sight. 

And  mocking  with  their  glare  the  temple's  mystic  night 

Majestic  dreams  of  Rome's  primeval  day. 

Oh  list  and  answer  !  Oh  !  Ac. 

Unfortunately  as  Mr.  Seward  warmed  in  his  recitation,  he  began 
to  speak  with  such  extreme  volubility,  that  to  have  taken  down  his 
words  accurately,  would  have  required  nothing  less  than  the  presence 
of  that  Prince  of  Stenographers,  Mr.  John  Dow  himself. f  So 
that  we  hope  that  Mr.  Seward  will  yield  to  the  solicitations  of  the 
Contributors,  and  give  his  poem  to  the  world.  The  next  we  knocked 
down  was  Dr.  Scott,  who,  in  compliance  with  Bnilie  Jarvie's  earnest 
request,  favored  us  with  the  following  ballad  of  his  own  composition, 
at  present  the  most  popular  ditty  in  the  west  of  Scotland  ! 

*  Son  of  Dr.  Goodenough,  Bishop  of  Carlisle. — M. 

■t  i;)oM'  x"««  t.her      ■  ''  '""'■  many  years  after,  the  best  short-hand  writer  in   Edinburgh. — M^ 


1819.]  PUNCH,    THE    PEACEMAKER.  27 

THE    MEMORY    OF    SANDY    FERGUSON. 
Written,  Composed,  and  Sung,  by  James  Scott,  Esq.,  of  Millar-street,  Glasgow. 

1. 
If  e'er  at  Peggy  Jardine's  it  was  your  luck  to  dwell, 
It  is  odds  but  ye  knew  Sandy  Ferguson  well ; 
If  you  opened  but  your  window,  you  could  not  choose  but  see 
The  lemons  in  his  window  shining  one,  two,  three. 

2. 
Ochon !  for  Sandy  Ferguson  !  the  lemons  still  are  there — 
The  jargonelle  and  pippin  and  the  carvy-seed  so  fair ; 
But  in  spite  of  figs  and  oranges,  and  stalks  of  sugar  candy, 
I  turn  not  in — I  stagger  by — ochon  !  ochon  for  Sandy. 


A  wee  wee  chap  upon  the  bowl,  then  I  pray  you  to  put  in, 
And  to  leave  a  drop  of  heeltap  I'd  hold  it  for  a  sin  ; 
For  though  sad  it  be  and  silent — yet  a  bumper  ifmust  be 
That  ye  fill  unto  the  kind  ghost  of  Sandy  with  me. 

4. 
There  were  prouder  on  the  mart — there  were  gayer  on  the  mall. 
There  were  louder  at  the  What-you-please,  and  wittier  at  tJie  Stall — 
But  I  will  give  my  heart's  blood,  though  every  drop  were  brandy. 
If  either  Stall  or  What-you-please  knew  such  a  heart  as  Sandy  ! 

5. 
Then  fill  ye  up  your  bumpers,  friends,  and  join  your  hands  around, 
And  drink  your  measure  heartily,  that  sorrow  may  be  drowned  ; 
For  what  avails  our  sorrow,  friends,  the  best  of  beings  maun  die, 
And  here's  a.  woeful  proof  of  that — the  Memory  of  Sandy  ! 

There  is  nothing  more  worthy  of  observation  and  praise  in  the 
character  of  that  precious  fluid,  punch,  than  its  power  of  amalgama- 
tion. Under  its  benign  influence  the  most  conflicting  qualities 
become  reconciled ;  and  a  party  of  weak,  strong,  sweet,  and  sour 
people,  form,  like  the  "  charmed  drink"  which  they  imbibe,  one  safe 
and  agreeable  whole.  This  cannot  be  authorizedly  predicted  of  any 
other  liquid  comprehended  within  the  range  of  our  wide  experience. 
We  had  seen  Thracian  quarrels  around  all  sorts  of  "  Pocula,"  except 
punch-bowls  ;  but  there  seems  to  be  a  divine  air  breathed  from  the 
surface  of  a  circle  of  'china,  or  even  of  stone  or  wood,  when  a  wave- 
less  well  of  punch  sleeps  within,  that  soothes  every  ruder  feeling  into 
peace,  and  awakens  in  the  soul  all  the  finer  emotions  of  sensibility 
and  friendship.  We  are  satisfied,  that  if  punch  were  the  uni- 
versal tipple  of  Europe,  there  would  be  no  more  war — especially 
if  all  the  Continental  States  were  to  employ  a  judicious  intermixture 
of  Lime-juice.  In  our  Tent  had  been  assembled  for  several  hours 
men  of  different  countries,  education,  and  pursuits ;  and  who  shall 


28  CHEISTOPHER   IN   THE   TENT.  [Aug. 

pretend  to  know  all  the  infinite  varieties  of  principle  and  opinion 
that  must  have  been  collected  within  that  narrow  circumference  ? 
Yet  all  was  perfect  harmony — the  Shepherd  sat  down  with  the 
Dentist — and  the  Cockney  may  be  said  to  have  played  in  the  Editor's 
den. 

Politics  had  been  drowned  in  punch ;  and  the  following  list  of 
toasts,  which  were  all  received  with  boundless  acclamations  during 
the  evening,  will  show  that  we  looked  only  to  Sporting  Characters, 

"  And  left  all  meaner  tilings 
To  low  ambition  and  the  j^ride  of  kings." 

Mr.  H.  Mackenzie, by  Dr.  Morris. 

Mr.  Walter  Scott, by  Ettrick  Shepherd. 

Mr.  Francis  Jeffrey, by  Mr.  Wastle. 

Duke  of  Wellington, by  Mi*.  Odolierty. 

Mr.  James  Machel, by  Mr.  MuUion. 

Mr.  Croker, . . . ; by  the  Editor. 

Mr.  Canning, by  Mr.  Seward. 

Mr.  John  Hamilton, by  Mr.  Tickler. 

Collector  M'Nair, by  Mr.  Jarvie. 

Mr.  Coke  of  Norfolk, by  Mr.  Buller. 

Mr.  Wordsworth, by  Mr.  Kempferhausen. 

Sir  Dan.  Donnelly,* by  Mr.  Tims. 

Mr.  Thomas  Belcher, by  JNtr,  Price. 

We  should  think  very  meanly  of  ourselves  were  we  to  attempt  to 
impose  on  public  credulity,  by  asserting  that  we  have  a  perfectly 
distinct  recollection  of  the  latter  part  of  the  evening.  We  do,  how- 
ever, clearly  remember  that  Kempferhausen  who  had  most  heroically 
endured  a  gnawing  tooth-ache  for  many  hours,  finally  submitted  his 
jaw  to  the  algebraical  hand  of  Dr.  Scott,  who  was  not  long  of 
extracting  the  square  root — and  that  the  ingenious  German  having 
soon  after  incautiously  gone  into  the  open  air  to  admire  the  moon, 
returned  to  his  seat  with  one  cheek  whose  magnitude  was  well 
entitled  to  hold  the  other  in  derision,  and  whose  colors  were,  indeed, 
truly  prism atical.  Such  a  face  has  rarely  been  seen — and  we  may 
say  to  Dr.  Scott  of  his  patient,  in  the  words  of  his  great  namesake, 

"  Alas !  the  mother  that  him  bore 
Had  scarcely  knoWn  her  child." 

Of  this  subject  Dr.  Morris  made  on  the  spot  a  most   spirited 

*  "  Immediately  after  his  victory  over  Oliver,  Donelly  set  off  in  a  chariot  and  four  to  Brightoa, 
where  he  was  knighted  by  a  Prince  Repent.  He  is  therefore,  now,  Sir  Daniel  Donelly." — Irish 
Paper.  Donelly  was  a  strong,  hard-fisted  Irishman,  a  carpenter  by  trade,  who  had  fought  with 
Oliver,  an  English  pugilist,  m  July,  1819,  and  beaten  him  On  returning  to  Dublin,  Donelly 
opened  a  public-house,  and  used  to  relate,  to  gaping  and  admiring  auditors,  how  the  Prince 
Regent  had  sent  for  him,  after  the  fight,  and  knighted  him.  A  couple  of  years'  hard  drinking 
finished  him,  and  he  died  in  February,  1S2U, — his  immediate  cause  of  illness  being  thirty-seven 
tumblers  of  punch  taken  in  one  sitting  !  Maginn,  in  Blackwood  for  May.  1820,  gave  a  '•  Luctus 
for  the  death  of  Sir  Dan.  Donelly,"  in  which  learning  and  wit  were  largely  employed  and  weU 
blended.— M. 


1819.]  THE   FINISH.  "  29 

sketch,  which  he  intends  to  finish  in  oil,  and  present  to  us,  that  when 
Kempferhausen  returns  to  the  Continent,  we,  his  Scottish  friends,  may 
still  retain  the  image  of  one  of  our  most  enthusiastic  contributors. 
We  have  likewise  a  confused  but  delightful  remembrance  of  the 
whole  party  assembled  at  the  Tent  door,  (while  the  domestics  were 
removing  the  furniture  and  preparing  beds)  in  solemn  contemplation 
of  the  starry  heavens.  Never  before  did  we  so  feel  the  genius  of 
Burns  as  when  looking  at  our  old  friend  the  moon  and  her  horns. 

"  Whether  she  had  three  or  four, 
We  could  na  tell." 

The  Shepherd  most  vehemently  asserted  that  he  saw  the  comet — 
and  began  spouting  some  obscure  and  opaque  verses  to  her  as 
extemporaneous,  which  were,  however,  instantly  detected  by  the 
tenacious  memory  of  Tickler  to  have  been  written  in  1811,  when  the 
pastoral  bard  was  flirting  with  the  long  tail  of  the  celestial  beauty  of 
that  year.  It  was  in  vain  for  him  to  appeal  to  a  late  number  of 
Constable's  Magazine,  which  no  mortal  had  seen,  and  which  the 
Shepherd  himself  was  forced  to  acknowledge  had  a  sad  trick  of 
trying* 

"  To  mak  auld  claes 
Appear  amaist  as  -well  as  new  !" 

After  this,  there  surely  must  have  been  a  match  at  hop-step-and- 
jump  between  Tickler  and  Dr.  Scott — unless,  indeed,  it  were  on  our 
part  all  a  dream.  Yet  we  cannot  get  rid  of  the  impression  on  our 
minds,  that  we  saw  the  latter  making  most  surprising  bounds  among 
the  heather,  and  coming  down  with  "  a  thud"  posterior  to  each  essay 
— while  the  former  cleared  the  ground  like  one  of  those  gigantic 
shadowy  figures  that  are  seen  stalking  across  the  hills  at  sunset. 
There  was  also  a  very  anxious  search  among  the  heather  for  Peter's 
man  John,  and  Wastle's  man  Thomas,  who  were  nowhere  to  be 
found — and  though  the  whole  party,  at  one  time,  agreed  that  they 
heard  a  snore  from  a  jungle  of  brackens,  we  tried  in  vain  to  start  the 
game.  We  afterwards  discovered  that  the  sound  must  have  pro- 
ceeded from  one  of  the  numerous  Highlanders  stretched  in  their 
plaids  in  each  direction  around  the  Tent ;  for  our  two  gentlemen 
had,  under  the  auspices  of  the  Thane's  gillies,  paid  a  nocturnal  visit 
to  a  Still  at  work  no  great  way  off,  from  which  it  was  not  till  a 
decent  hour  after  sunrise  that  they  groped  their  way  back  to  the 
encampment.  The  last  thing  we  recollect  before  going  to  bed,  was 
Odoherty's  selling  to  Mr.  Tims,  for  £45,  his  gun,  which  we  have 
good  reason  to  know  he  had  purchased  at  the  General  Agency  Office, 

*  The  letter  from  Hogg,  a  copy  of  which  is  given  in  the  present  edition,  -will  show  that  even 
up  to  the  last  year  of  his  life,  he  was  addicted  to  this  "sad  trick." — M. 


30  CHEISTOPHEE   EN   THE  TENT.  [Aug. 

Edinburgh,  for  £4,  4s. ;  but  we  must  also  add,  to  the  credit  of  the 
Adjutant,  that  with  his  accustomed  generosity  he  returned  £5  of  the 
purchase-money.  A  general  anxiety  also  prevailed  among  the  party, 
before  bundling  in,  to  send  presents  of  birds  to  some  of  our  chief 
absent  Contributors ;  .  but  it  appeared  that  we  had,  "  gentle  and 
simple,"  devoured  upwards  of  sixty  brace,  and  none  but  the 
Editor's  pack  remained,  which  was  judicially  retained  for  the  relish  at 
breakfast. 

We  have  no  room,  now,  to  describe  our  feelings  on  awaking  in  the 
morning.  Eor  some  minutes  we  could  not  form  even  the  most 
distant  conjecture  where  or  among  whom  we  were  ;  but  as  the  mist 
gradually  rose  up  from  our  brain,  and  freed  our  memory  from  obfus- 
cation,  there  came  upon  us  a  pleasant  dawning  of  the  truth  ;  and  on 
beholding  the  bold  nose  and  piercing  eyes  of  Tickler  looking  out 
from  below  an  old  worsted  stocking  tastefully  wreathed  into  a  night- 
cap, with  a  long  tail  swaggering  behind — and  the  fine  Spanish  face 
of  the  Standard-bearer  enjoying  a  magnificent  yawn  under  a  veteran 
foraging-cap — we  w^ere  at  once  let  in  to  a  perfect  knowledge  of  our 
situation,  and  we  all  then  sprung  from  our  heather-bed  together,  just 
as  John  of  Sky  blew  up  his  pipes  to 


'  Hey !  Johnnie  Coup,  are  ye  waking  yet 
Or  are  your  drums  a-beating  yet  ? 
If  ye  were  waking,  I  would  wait 
To  gang  to  the  Grouse  i'  the  morning." 


©Iirt^tojiliei:  in  ttie  ffent. 


No.  II.— SEPTEMBER,  1819. 

We  have  no  wish  to  mform  the  public  of  all  the  difficulties  we  had 
to  encounter  in  bringing  out  the  last  Number  of  our  valuable  Miscel- 
lany.* It  was  on  the  evening  of  the  16th  of  August  that  we  arrived 
in  Edinburgh  from  our  Tent ;  and  as  we  had  to  ship  off  to  London 
on  the  20th,  the  hurry-skurry  and  the  helter-skelter  at  the  Printing- 
Office  may  be  more  easily  imagined  than  described.  Immediately 
on  stepping  out  of  the  Aberdeen  coach,  we  came  bob  against  Mr. 
Blackwood,  who  exclaimed,  "  My  gracious  !  Mr.  Editor,  this  is  a  fine 
prank  you  have  been  playing  us  all !  The  cry  for  copy  is  most 
terrible — dog  on  it  ...  ,  But  goodness  be  praised,  here  you 
are- — come  away  up  to  Ambrose's." 

We  soon  found  ourselves  sitting"  before  a  sirloin  of  beef  and  a  pot 
of  porter ;  and  Mr.  Ambrose,  who  saw  there  was  something  in  the 
wind  more  than  usual,  brought  in  the  Steel  Pen,  our  best  japan  ink, 
and  a  quire  of  wire-wove.  Having  travelled  much  in  coaches  during 
the  early  part  of  our  life,  we  even  now  ate  our  dinner  as  in  fear  of 
the  horn  ;f  so  that  in  less  than  quarter  of  an  hour  the  sirloin  was 
removed  with  a  deep  gash  on  his  side,  and  the  empty  porter  pot  rose 
from  the  table  at  a  touch.  We  scarcely  took  time  to  wipe  our 
mouths,  and  fell  to,  "  totis  viribus,"  like  a  giant  refreshed,  to  the 
"  Twelfth  of  August,"  an  article  which  we  finished  at  a  sitting,  and 
which  we  are  happy  to  find  has  given  very  great  and  general  satisfac- 
tion. Ebony,  meanwhile,  lost  not  a  moment  in  running  down  to  the 
Printing-Office  with  a  packet  we  had  brought  from  the  Tent — and  on 
his  return,  by  way  of  showing  his  satisfection,  he  whispered  mine 
host  to  place  near  our  right  hand  a  small  bowl  of  cold  punch,  which 
a  Glasgow  gentleman  in  the  adjacent  parlor  had  been  kind  enough  to 
manufacture ;  and  we  felt  it  to  be  no  less  our  duty  to  ourselves  than 

*  The  whole  of  Blackwood  for  September,  1819,  was  devoted  to  this  article  relating  the 
sayings  and  doings  of  North  and  his  companions  in  the  Tent.  There  evidently  was  a  number 
of  miscellaneous  articles  already  in  type,  and,  with  some  ingenuity,  these  were  worked  into 
the  narrative,— occasionally,  however,  without  much  regard  to  consistency.  The  articles  so 
introduced  occupied  about  half  of  the  September  number. — M. 

t  This  was  in  the  olden  days  of  mail  and  stage-coach  travelling,  before  railways  were.  It 
mav  be  here  incidentally  noticed  that  railway  travelling,  as  we  have  it  now,  did  not  commence 
in  England,  until  the  15th  September,  1830,  when  the  Liverpool  and  Manchester  railway  was 
opened,  with  great  state. — M. 


32  CHRISTOPHKR   IN  THE  TENT.  [Sept. 

to  Messrs.  Blackwood  and  Ambrose,  to  take  a  bumper  at  the  close 
of  every  paragraph,  which  may  possibly  account  for  their  being 
somewhat  shorter  than  is  usual  in  our  fall,  free,  and  flowing  style  of 
composition. 

For  three  days — and  we  may  almost  add  nights,  there  was  no 
occasion  to  say  to  us  "saepe  vertas  stylum,"  for  .we  boldly  dashed  at 
every  thing,  from  Don  Juan  to  Slack,  the  Pugilist ;  and  flew  in  a 
moment  from  the  Cape-of-Good-Hope  to  th6  Pyramids  of  Egypt.* 
"  My  gracious,  your  versatility  is  most  fearsome,"  murmured  our 
astonished  publisher :  "  It  will  be  one  of  our  best  Numbers  after 
all."  The  truth  is,  that  we  felt  nettled  by  the  remark  of  Dr.  Morris, 
in  his  "  Peter's  Letters  to  his  Kinsfolk,"  that  we  only  laid  plans  for 
others  to  execute,f  and  were  determined  to  show  the  ]Dhysician  and 
all  the  rest  of  the  world, — first,  that  we  are  no  sinecurists, — and, 
secondly,  that  our  seat  is  not  at  a  Board  under  Government. 

We  are  not  personally  known  at  the  Printing-Office,  so  we  hob- 
bled down  one  midnight  along  with  EbonyJ  to  witness  the  opera- 
tions. What  motion  of  many  twinkling  hands  among  compositors  ! 
What  display  of  brawny  arms  among  pressmen  !  Wliat  a  stir  of 
printer's-devils  !  "  The  Editor's  MS.  is  growing  worse  and  worse 
every  month,"  said  a  long  sallow-faced  stripling,  with  a  page  of  the 
Twelfth  of  August  close  to  his  eyes,  as  if  he  were  going  to  apply  • 
bandage — "  What  makes  the  young  lads  ay  sae  sair  on  Hairy 
Brougham, II  I  wonder,"  quoth  another — "Here's  another  slap  at 
Macvey,"  said  a  third,  "  that's  really  too  bad."  "  I  would  not 
grudge  sitting  up  all  night  at  another  Canto  of  the  Mad  Banker  of 
Amsterdam,"  added  a  fourth — but  not  to  be  tedious,  we  were 
pleased  to  observe,  that  on  the  whole  a  spirit  of  good  humor  and 
alacrity  pervaded  the  Office,  and  above  all,  that  that  vile  Jacobinical 
spirit,  unfortunately  but  too  prevalent  among  persons  of  their  profes- 
sion, had  given  way  beneath  the  monthly  influence  of  our  principles ; 
and  that  the  inflammatory  and  seditious  lucubrations  of  the  Yellow 
Dwarf,  Examiner,^  Scotsman,  and  other  bawling  demagogues,  the 

*  It  was  even  so.  Besides  the  articles  already  mentioned  (page  10),  the  August  number 
had  papers  on  the  opening  Cantos  of  Don  Juan,  Emigration  to  the  Cape  of  Good-Hope,  the 
Pyramid  of  Caphrenes.  (opened  by  Belzoni,  in  iSlS,  and  found  to  contain  the  bones  of  a  cow  or 
bull,)  and  the  conquest,  in  the  prize-ring,  of  BroiJghton  by  Slack,  the  butcher. — M. 

t  In  Peter's  Letters  (Vol.  ii.  p.  2'2.5,)  we  find  it  thus  written  : — ''  It  is  noi  known  who  the 
Editor  is — I  do  not  see  how  that  secret  can  ever  be  divulged,  as  things  now  stand — but  my  friend 
Wastle  tells  me  that  he  is  an  obscure  man,  almost  continually  confined  to  his  apartments  by 
rheumatism,  whose  labors  extend  to  little  more  than  correcting  proof-sheets,  and  drawing  up 
plans,  which  are  mostly  executed  by  other  people.'' — M. 

+  ''And  I  looked,  and  behold  a  man  clothed  in  plain  apparel  stood  in  the  door  of  his  house  : 
and  I  saw  his  name,  and  the  number  of  his  name  ;  and  his  name  was  as  it  had  been  the  color 
of  Ebony,  and  his  number  was  the  number  of  a  maiden,  when  the  days  of  the  year  of  her 
virginity  have  expired." — Chaldee  Manuscript.  Chap.  I.,  v.  3.  In  this  Oriental  prolixity  was 
mention  made  of  Mr.  Blackwood,  No.  17  Princes-street,  ildinburgh. — M. 

II  A  bitter  attack,  "  On  a  late  Attempt  to  White-wash  Mr.  Brougham"  was  one  of  the  articles 
in  Blackwood  for  August,  1819.  There  was  sarcastic  mention,  in  another  paper,  on  Macvey 
Napier's  dissertation  on  Lord  Bacon. — M. 

§  The  Yellow  Dwarf  was  a  violent  weekly  journal,  published  in  London  by  an  ultra-Radical, 
named  Wooler.     At  the  same  time,  The  Examiner  was  conducted  by  Leigh  Hunt. — M. 


1819.]  CARMEN   DIABOLICUM.  33 

fruits  of  whose  doctrines  are  now  being  reaped  by  the  deluded 
people  of  the  north  of  England,  were  spoken  of  with  indignation  and 
disgust. 

We  had  slyly  ordered  a  few  gallons  of  punch  to  be  brought  down 
to  the  office,  to  give  a  fillup  to  the  worthy  workmen  at  the  close  of 
their  labors,  and  an  excellent  article  might  be  written — indeed  shall 
be — entitled,  "  The  Humors  of  a  Printing-Office  ;"  but  for  the  pre- 
sent, our  readers  must  rest  satisfied  with  the  following  song,  which 
we  understand  was  written  by  a  devil  not  exceeding  twelve  years, 
an  instance  of  precocious  genius  unrivalled  in  the  history  of  Pan- 
demonium. 

CARMEN     DIABOLICUM. 

Su7ig  in  Oliver  &  Boyd's  Printing-Office,^  on  the  Midnight  between  the  I'^th  and 

20fh  0/ August,  1819. 

SOLO,    BY    BOWZY    BEELZEBUB. 
1. 

When  the  vessel  she  is  ready,  all  her  rigging  right  and  steady, 

And  the  fine  folks  arranged  on  the  shore, 
Then  they  shove  her  from  the  doek  with  a  thunder  of  a  shock, 

And  the  ordnance  salutes  with  a  roar ; 
But  before  the  hausers  shp  to  give  sea-room  to  the  ship. 

To  propitiate  the  winds,  tliere  is  thrown 
A  flask  of  generous  red,  all  along  the  bowsprit  shed — 

Then  God  bless  her,  they  cry,  and  she's  gone — 

Grand  Chorus  of  Devils. 
God  bless  her — God  bless  her — she's  gone — 
With  a  yo-hee-vo. 


SOLO,    BY    TIPSY   THAMMUZ. 

Thus  when  our  latest  sheet,  to  make  Ebony  complete, 

Is  revised,  and  thrown  off,  and  stitched  in, 
And  the  Editor  so  staunch  is  prepai-ing  for  his  launch, 

Then  he  plunges  liis  hand  in  the  Bin. 
"  Now  let  every  jolly  soul  lay  his  ears  in  the  punch  bowl, 

"  And  be  ready,"  he  cries,  with  a  shout — 
"  That  our  enemies  may  know,  when  they  hear  our  yo-hee-vo — 

We'll  play  hellf  with  them  all  when  we're  out." 

Grand  Chorus  of  Dennis. 
"  We'll  play  hell,  well  play  hell,  when  we're  out — 
With  a  yo-hee-vo !" 

•     *  At  this  time  Blackwood   was  printed   by  Oliver   &   Boyd.     In   1820,  it  was  transferred  to 
James  Ballantyne's  Office,  where  it  remained  for  more  than  thirty  years. — M. 
t  Pope  says,  of  a  fashionnble  preacher. 

"And  never  mentions  Hell  'fore  ears  polite." 
This,  we  think,  is   excellent   advice,  both    to  the   Clergy   and  the   Laity,  even   in    le.^s  refined 
society:  but  the  reader  will  bear  in  mind  that  this  Chorus  was  written  by  a  devil,  and  sung  by 
a  batch  of  devils.     These  local  allusions  are,  therefore,  quite  in  place,  and  are  sanrtioned  al.«o  by 
the  authority  of  Milton.— C.  N. 

2* 


34:  CKRISTOPHER   IN   THE   TENT.  [Sept. 

Well,  out  came  the  Magazine,  as  usual,  on  the  20th,  when,  according 
to  Hogg's  celebrated  sonnet, 

*'  One  breathless  hush  expectant  reigns  from  shore  to  shore." 

But  such  is  the  strong  inconsistency  of  all  human  desires,  that  no 
sooner  was  the  load  oft'  our  shoulders,  than  we  almost  wished  it  on 
again,  and  began  to  wonder  what  we  should  do  with  ourselves  for  the 
next  fortnight.  It  was  not  mere  ennui  that  beset  us,  for  (since  the 
story  will  out,  it  is  best  we  ourselves  tell  it)  during  our  absence  we 
had  suffered  a  domestic  affliction  which  time  may  alleviate,  but  never 
can  wholly  cure.  Eor  home  had  now  no  charms  for  us — that  lofty 
home  once  so  still  and  pleasant,  fourteen  flats  nearer  heaven  than  the 
grovelling  ground-floors  of  ordinary  men — and  commanding  a  mag- 
nificent view,  not  only  of  the  whole  New  Town  of  Edinburgh,  but 
of  the  kingdom  of  Fife  in  front,  to  the  west  far  as  the  towers  of 
Snowdon,  and  to  the  east  the  sail-studded  expanse  of  the  noble  Frith, 
and  the  rich  corn-fields  of  Lothian, 

"  The  empire  of  Edinburgh,  to  the  farthest  Bass." 

Our  housekeeper*  had  eloped  with  an  English  Bagman,  who  had  met 
the  honest  woman  as  she  was  coming  home  from  market  with  a  cou- 
ple of  herrings  in  a  kail-blade,  and  had  been  but  too  successful  in 
filling  her  imagination  with  those  romantic  notions  of  love  and  happi- 
ness which  that  eloquent  and  accomplished  class  of  men  know  so  well 
to  instil  into  the  too  susceptible  heart.  The  following  letter  was 
lying  on  the  little  tri-clawed  table  at  which  we  had  so  often  drunk 
tea  together,  and  occasionally,  perhaps,  "  sterner  stuff"," — and  ours, 
you  may  be  assured,  was  not  a  soul  to  peruse  it  without  tears. 

"  Best  and  Kindest  of  Masters, — Several  nights  before  you  read  this,  my  fate 
will  have  been  indissolubly  uuited  with  that  of  Mr.  Perkins.  I  am  no  love-sick 
girl,  sir,  of  eighteen — and  though  I  have  known  Mr.  Perkins  only  a  few  days,  yet 
I  have  not  entered  rashly  into  this  solemn  league  and  covenant.  I  have  observed 
in  him  a  truly  devout  and  serious  spirit,  and  have  no  doubt  that  he  will  turn  out 
so  as  to  satisfy  all  my  most  anxious  desires.  Our  marriage  is  a  marriage  of  souls 
— and  as  our  religious  principles  are  to  a  tittle  the  same,  I  trust  that,  unworthy 
as  we  are,  some  portion  of  sublunary  happiness  may  be  vouchsafed  to  us.  Mr. 
Perkins,  it  is  true,  is  some  years  younger  than  myself,  being  about  thirty-jfive,  but 
he  looks  considerably  older  than  that,  and  has  a  sobriety  and  discretion  far  beyond 
his  years.f     I  know  well  that  there  will  be  much  evil-speaking  throughout  Scot- 

*  Of  this  very  extraordinary  woman  we  shall  give  a  short  memoir  in  an  early  Number,  ac- 
companied with  specimens  of  her  compositions,  both  in  prose  and  verse.  Her  natural  talents 
were  great,  and  her  literary  attainments  by  no  means  contemptible.  She  was  lost  to  us  in  the 
57th  year  of  her  age,  a  dangerous  time  of  life  to  a  female  of  cultivated  mind,  and  rather  too 
strict  ideas  on  the  subject  of  religion.— -C.  N.     [An  unfulfilled  promise. — M.] 

t  It  is  an  ascertained  fact,  that  although  a  young  man  rarely,  with  his  own  free  will,  mar- 
ries an  old  woman,  be  she  spinster  or  widow  :  persons  of  the  female  sex  are  never  found  to  liave 
an  antipathy  to  a  marriage  with  men  very  much  their  juniors  in  age.  The  fortitude  and  resig- 
nation with  which  an  old  maid  of  forty  submits  to  a  matrimonial  alliance  with  a  bachelor 
or  widower  of  twenty-five,  are  very  exemplary. — M. 


1819.]  GKIZZY   TUENBULL's   ELOPEMENT.  35 

laud  about  this  matter, — and  that  the  public,  censorious  on  people  far  my  supe- 
riors in  all  things,  will  not  sjDare  poor  Grizzy  Turnbull — but  my  heart  knowetli 
its  own  purity, — and  the  idle  gossip  of  an  idle  world  will  soon  die  away. 

"And  BOW,  my  ever  dear  master,  let  me  confide  to  you  a  secret  which  I  have 
treasured  up  in  my  heart  these  last  twenty  years — years,  alas  !  of  misery  and  of 
happiness,  never  again  to  return.  Since  the  priest  night  i  slept  beneath  your 
ROOE  I  HAVE  loved-,  MADLY  LOVED  YOU  !  ycs,  the  coufession  is  made  on  paper  at 
last — written  over  and  over  again,  crossed  and  recrossed  in  every  possible  way, 
as  it  long  has  been,  by  the  trembling  hand  of  passion  on  my  heart  of  hearts  !  O  ! 
my  sweet  master  (surely  that  word  may  be  allowed  to  me  in  our  parting  hour), 
for  twenty  years,  come  the  Martinmas  term,  have  I  doted  upon  thee  !  yes  !  I  have 
watched  the  progress  of  thy  rheumatism  with  feelings  which  even  thine  own 
matchless  pen  would  fail  to  analyze  !  Lord  Byron  himself  could  not  paint  the 
conflict  of  passions  that  turmoiled  within  my  bosom,  when,  under  the  guidance  of 
that  angel  of  a  man,  Dr.  Balfour,  I  rubbed  that  dear  rheumatic  leg  on  the  sofa  ! 
O  !  our  little  tea-driukings  !...,..  but  in  the  sweet  words  of  Campbell, 

'  Be  hushed,  my  dark  spirit,  for  wisdom  condemns, 

When  the  faint  and  the  feeble  deplore, 
Be  firm  as  a  rock  of  the  ocean,  that  stems 

A  thousand  wild  waves  on  the  shore  ! 
Through  the  scowl  of  mischance,  and  the  smile  of  disdain, 
'  Let  thy  front  be  unaltered,  thy  courage  elate. 

Yea,  EVEN  THE  NAME  I  HAVE  WORSHIPPED  IN  VAIN, 

Shall  awake  not  a  throb  of  remembrance  again  ; 
To  bear  is  to  conquer  our  fate  ! ! ! ' 

"Mr.  Perkins  must  now  be  all  in  all  to  me — but  though  I  will  cherish  him  in 
my  bosom,  no  code  of  laws,  either  human  or  divine,  passes  sentence  of  oblivion  on 
vanished  hours  of  innocent  enjoyment — and  be  assured,  that  if  I  be  ever  blessed 
with  a  family,  my  second  son  (for  I  must  call  the  first  after  its  grandfather)  shall 
bear  the  christian  and  surname  of  my  too,  too  dear  master.  But  away  with  de- 
lightful dreams,  never,  perhaps,  to  be  realized  !  and  with  such  feelings  as  a  new- 
born infant  might  avow,  I  subscribe  myself,  yours  as  fit  only, 

"  Grace  Perkins, 
"  14^!^  of  August, 

"  Written  in  the  dear  little  blue  parlor^ 

Had  this  unexpected  blow  fallen  upon  us  during  the  bustle  of  win- 
ter, we  could  have  borne  it.  But  at  this  solitary  season,  there  was 
nothing  to  lighten  that  load  of  grief, — in  the  words  of  Michael  An. 
gelo, 

El  importune  et  grave  selma, 

that  absolutely  bowed  us  down  to  the  earth, — a  grief  the  more  acute, 
from  the  sad  conviction,  that  our  inestimable  Housekeeper  had  been 
partly  driven  into  Mrs.  Perkins,  by  a  hopeless  and  therefore  undi- 
vulged  passion  for  the  Editor  of  this  Magazine.  To  kill  thought  and 
time,  we  lay  in  bed  till  eleven  ;  then  ate  some  muffins  from  M'Ewan's, 
"  which  did  coldly  furnish  up  our  breakfast-table,"  and  hobbled  down 
the  Mound,  witless  where  to  go.  All  was  silence  and  desolation. 
Not  a  soul  going  into  the  panorama  of  Algiers ;  and  the  long  line  of 


36  CHRISTOPHER    IN    Tlffi   TENT.  [Sept. 

Prince's  Street,  from  St.  John's  chapel  to  the  Prmce  Regent  Bridge,* 
unbroken,  save  perhaps  by  some  coach  wheeling  along  its  pile  of 
dust-covered  outsides.  At  the  corner  of  some  cross  street  sat  some 
hopeless  fruiterer,  with  her  basket  of  gooseberries,  "  alas  !  all  too 
ripe  ;"  while  perhaps  some  unlucky  school-boy,  who  was  drawling  his 
dull  holidays  in  town,  hesitatingly  eyed  the  small  red  hairy  circlets, 
and  had  the  resolution  to  pass  by  with  his  halfpenny  in  his  hand. 
The  linen-blinds  shaded  the  shop-windows,  in  winter  and  spring  so 
gorgeously  displayed,  and  not  one  gay  and  buzzing  insect  was  seen 
to  enter  or  issue  from  the  deserted  hive.  The  Middle  Shop  itself, 
two  little  months  ago,  before  our  shoes  were  old  in  which  we  went  to 
the  moors, 

"  So  full  of  laughing  faces  and  bright  eyes," 

stood  empty  and  silent,  save  when  some  summer-stranger  from  the 
South  came  in  to  ask  for  a  copy  of  the  last  Number  of  Blackwood's 
Magazine  or  of  Peter's  Letters,  or  Mdien  we  ourselves  hobbled  in,  and 
received  an  unwitnessed  greeting  from  our  publisher,  whom  the  well- 
known  sound  of  our  foot  had  brought  forth  with  a  pen  behind  his  ear, 
from  the  Sanctum  Sanctorum.  Even  in  Ambrose's  the  sound  of  the 
grinders  was  low.  The  ordinary  in  Barclay's  tavern,  at  M^hich  we 
have  seen  thirty  pair  of  knives  and  forks  at  play,  did  well  if  it  exhib- 
ited half-a-dozen  mouths ;  and  the  miatchless  weekly  suppers  of  the 
Dilettanti  at  Young's  (to  wdiich  we  are  sometimes  admitted),  had,  in 
the  heat  of  the  weather,  melted  quite  away.  True,  the  Theatre  was 
open,  but  it  was  likewise  empty  ;  and  O'Neill,  Farren,  Abbott,  and 
Jones,  sighed,  wept,  doted,  laughed,  and  whisked  about  iii  vain. 
Would  you  go  down  to  the  sea-side  ?  There  some  solitary  bathing 
machine  voided  its  nudity  into  the  waves,  or  some  parsimonious 
bachelor  sat  wiping  his  hairy  length  on  a  stone ;  while,  perchance, 
one  of  the  London  packets  sailed  briskly  from  the  pier,  and  seemed 
soon  to  carry  away  into  the  dim  distance  the  scanty  remains  of  the 
population  of  Edinburgh. 

In  this  state  of  mind,  it  would  have  been  folly  to  remain  in  town ; 
so  we  resolved  once  more  to  join  the  Tent,  which  had  now  taken  root 
in  the  Highlands  ;  and  while  trying  to  take  courage  to  buy  a  ticket 
in  the  Perth  Breakneck,f  we  strolled  into  our  favorite  snuff  and  to- 
bacco shop,  and  filled  our  cannister  with  Princes'  mixture  and  segars. 
There,  while  admiring  the  beautiful  arrangements  of  pipes,  boxes, 
&c.,  and  regarding  with  a  friendly  affection  the  light,  airy,  and  grace'- 
ful  figure  of  the  fair  Miss  Fanny  Forman,$  we  mentally  indited  the 
following  lines : — 

•  Localities  in  Edinburgh.— M.     t  An  appropriate  name  for  avery  fast-going  stage-coach.— M. 
t  In  a  previous  number  of  Maga,  a  sonnet  by  Mr.  Gillies  had  celebrated  the  charms  of  Miss 
Forman,  who  kept  a  tobacconist's  shop  in  Prince's-street,  Edinburgh.— M. 


1819.]  JOHN   BALLANTYKE.  37 

LINES  TO  MISS  FANNY  FORMAN,  ON  BIDDING  HER  FAREWELL. 
By  the  Veiled  Editor  of  Blackwood's  Magazine. 
I 
Oh  !  the  grass  it  springs  green  on  the  Street  of  the  gay, 

And  the  mall  'tis  a  desolate  sight : 
And  the  beaux  and  the  belles  they  are  all  far  away, 

And  the  city's  a  wilderness  quite. 
And  I  too  will  wander — at  dawn  of  the  day 

I  will  leave  the  dull  city  behind  ; 
I  will  tread  the  free  hills,  and  my  spirits  shall  play 
As  of  old,  in  the  spring  of  the  wind, 

II. 

Yet,  a  lowly  voice  whispers,  that,  not  as  of  old, 

Shall  to  me  the  glad  spirit  be  given  : 
Tho'  the  lakes  beaming  broad  in  their  glens  I  behold, 

And  the  bills  soaring  blue  in  the  heaven  : 
That  the  kind  hand  of  Nature  in  vain  shall  unfold 

All  her  banner  of  innocent  glee— 
For  the  depths  of  my  soul  in  despondence  are  rolled. 

And  her  mirth  has  no  music  for  me. 

III. 

Yes,  o'er  valley  and  mountain,  where'er  I  may  go, 

That  voice  whispers  sadly  and  true, 
I  shall  bear,  lovely  Fanny  !  my  burden  of  woe — 

Cruel  maid — my  remembrance  of  you  ! 
As  some  cloud  whose  dim  fleeces  of  envious  snow, 

The  rays  of  the  evening-star  cover, 
Thy  memory  still  a  soft  dimness  shall  throw. 

O'er  the  languishing  breast  of  thy  lover. 

While  we  were  casting  about  in  this  way  whom  should  we  see 
turning  the  corner  of  Hanover-street  in  an  elegant  dennet,  and  at  a 
noble  trot,  but  our  excellent  friend  Mr.  John  Ballantyne  *?*  We 
thought  he  had  still  been  on  the  Continent,  and  have  seldom  been 
more  gratified  than  by  the  unexpected  apparition.  There  he  was,  as 
usual,  arrayed  in  the  very  pink  of  knowingness — grey  frock  and 
pebble    buttons,    Buckskins,    top-boots,    &c. — the    whip — for    Old 

*  John  Ballantyne  was  next  brother  to  James,  Scott's  printer  and  confidentia.l  friend,  and  like 
him,  was  in  the  secret  of  the  Waverley  Novels.  In  1S09,  he  was  started  by  Scott  and  his  brother, 
in  the  publishing  house  of  "  John  Ballantyne  &  Company,"  at  Edinburgh,  in  opposition  to 
Constable.  One  of  his  first  publications  was  Scott's  Lady  of  the  'LsJs.e.  After  the  success  of 
Waverley,  he  published  a  wretched  novel,  "  The  Widow's  Lodgings  "  The  publishins  business 
did  not  succeed,  and  the  firm  was  dissolved.  John  Ballantyne  then  became  an  auctioneer,  a 
business  for  which  he  was  well  qualified.  In  1S17,  Scott  contributed  several  minor  poems  to  a 
periodical  of  his  called  "  The  Sale  Room."  Ballantyne  died  June.  1S21,  aged  45.  Scott  attend- 
ed his  funeral,  and  said,  "  I  feel  as  if  there  would  be  less  sunshine  for  me  from  this  day  forth." 
Lockhart  says,  ''  He  was  a  quick^  active,  intrepid  little  fellow  ;  and  in  society  so  very  lively  and 
amusing,  so  full  of  fun  and  merriment;  such  a  thoroughly  light-hearted  droll,  all  over  quaint- 
ness  and  humorous  mimicry;  and  moreover,  such  a  keen  and  skilful  devotee  to  all  manner  of 
field-sports,  from  fox-hunting  to  badger-baling  inclusive,  that  it  was  no  wonder  he  should  havo 
made  a  favorable  impression  on  Scott."  And  again,  "  Of  his  style  of  story-telling  it  is  sutlicient 
to  say  that  the  late  Charles  Mathews's  '  Old  Scotch  Lady,'  was  but  an  imperfect  copy  of  the 
original,  which  the  great  imitator  first  heard  in  my  presence  from  his  lips." — M. 


38  CHRISTOPHER  IK  THE  TENT.  [Sept. 

Mortality  needs  no  whip — dangling  from  the  horn  behind — and  that 
fine  young  grew,  Dominie  Sampson,  capering  round  about  him  in 
the  madness  of  his  hilarity.*  Whenever  we  met  last  spring  we  used 
to  have  at  least  a  half-hour's  doleful  chat  on  the  progress  and  symp- 
toms of  our  respective  rheumatisms — but  Ballantyne  now  cut  that 
topic  short  in  a  twinkling,  assuring  us  he  had  got  rid  of  the  plague 
entirely — and,  indeed,  nobody  could  look  in  his  merry  face  without 
seeing  that  it  was  so.  We  never  croak  to  people  that  are  in  sound 
health — and,  therefore,  not  likely  to  enter  into  the  spirit  of  our 
miseries ;  so,  affecting  an  air  of  perfect  vigor,  we  began  to  talk,  in 
the  most  pompous  manner,  about  our  late  exploits  in  the  moors, 
regretting,  at  the  same  time,  that  Ballantyne  had  not  come  home. in 
time  to  make  one  of  our  party  on  the  12th  of  August.  "  We  are 
just  off  again  for  Braemar,"  said  we.  "  The  devil  you  are,"  said 
John,  "  I  don't  much  care  to  go  with  you  if  you'll  take  me."  "  By 
all  means,  you  delight  us,"  said  we.  "Well,"  cried  he,  "what 
signifies  bothering,  come  along,  I'll  just  call  at  Trinityf  for  half  a 
dozen  clean  shirts  and  neckcloths,  and  let's  be  off."  "  Done,"  said  we, 
mounting  to  the  lower  cushion,  "  only  just  drive  us  over  the  way  and 
pick  up  our  portmanteau."  No  sooner  said  than  done.  In  less  than 
an  hour  we  found  ourselves,  with  all  the  cargo  on  board,  scudding 
away  at  twelve  knots  an  hour  on  the  Queens-ferry  road. 

During  the  whole  journey  to  our  Tent,  we  were  kept  in  a  state  of 
unflagging  enjoyment  by  the  conversation  of  our  companion.  Who, 
indeed,  could  be  dull  in  immediate  jaxta-position  with  so  delightful  a 
compound  of  wit  and  warm-heartedness  1  We  have  heard  a  thou- 
sand story-tellers,  but  we  do  not  remember  among  the  whole  of  them 
more  than  one  single  individual,  who  can  sustain  the  briefest  com- 
parison with  our  exquisite  bibliopole.  Even  were  he  to  be  as  silent 
as  the  tomb  of  the  Capulets,  the  beaming  eloquence  of  that  counte- 
nance alone  would  be  enough  to  diffuse  a  spirit  of  gentle  jovialty 
over  all  who  might  come  into  his  presence.  We  do  not  think  Allan 
has  quite  done  justice  to  Mr.  Ballantyne's  face,  in  his  celebrated 
master-piece,  "  Hogg's  House-heating."  He  has  caught,  indeed,  the 
quaint,  sly,  archness  of  the  grin,  and  the  light,  quick,  irresistible 
glance  of  the  eyes ;  but  he  has  omitted  entirely  that  fine  cordial  sufl 
fusion  of  glad,  kind,  honest,  manly  mirth,  which  lends  the  truest 
charm  to  the  whole  physiognomy,  because  it  reveals  the  essential 

*  Lockhart  says,  "  His  horses  were  all  called  after  heroes  in  Scott's  poems  or  novels  ;  and  at 
this  time  he  usually  rode  up  to  his  auction  on  a  tall  milk-white  hunter,  yclept  Old  Mortality, 
attended  by  a  leash  or  two  of  greyhounds, — Die  Vernon,  Jenny  Dennison,  &c.,  by  name. — M. 

t  In  John  Ballantyne's  latter  days,  he  was  fitting;  up  a  mansion  near  Kelso,  which  he  called 
Walton  Plall.  buc  in  Ib'lO.  he  inhabited  Harmony  Hall,  by  Trinity,  near  the  Frith  of  Forth. 
"  Here,"  says  Lockhart,  "  Brahara  quavered,  and  here  Liston  drolled  his  best, — here  Johnstone, 
and  Murray,  and  Yates  mixed  jest  and  stave, — here  Kean  revelled  and  rioted, — and  here  did  the 
Roman  Kemble  often  play  the  Greek  from  sunset  to  dawn.  Nor  did  the  popular  cantatrice  or 
danseuse  of  the  time  disdain  to  freshen  her  roses,  after  a  laborious  week,  amidst  these  Paphian 
bowers  of  Harmony  Hall. — M. 


1819.]  THEODORE   HOOK.  39 

elements  of  the  character,  whose  index  that  most  original  physiog- 
nomy is.  But  the  voice  is  the  jewel — who  shall  ever  describe  its 
wonders  1  Passing  at  will  through  every  note  of  seriousness  and 
passion,  down  into  the  most  dry,  husky,  vibrations  of  gruffness,  or 
the  most  sharp  feeble  chirpings  of  old  woman's  querulousness, 
according  to  the  minutest  specialties  of  the  character  introduced  for 
the  moment  upon  the  stage  of  that  perpetual  Aristophanic  comedy  ; 
his  conversation — why,  Bannister,  Mathews,  Liston,  Yates,  Russel — 
none  of  them  all  is  like  John  Ballantyne,  when  that  eye  of  his  has 
fairly  caught  its  inspiration  from  the  sparkle  of  his  glass,* 

Even  here  in  our  gig  where  we  had  neither  bottle  nor  glass,  a  few 
puffs  of  one  of  Miss  Forman's  segars,  as  Odoherty  describes  them, 

The  true  Havana  smooth,  and  moist,  and  brown, 

were  enough  to  kindle  and  rekindle  as  much  mirth  as  was  consistent 
with  the  safety  of  the  vehicle  that  contained  us.  Among  other  things 
he  told  us  a  great  many  capital  stories  about  his  late  tour  to  the 
Netherlands,  expressing,  as  he  went  on,  in  every  particular  of  look, 
voice,  and  gesture,  the  very  corporal  presence  and  essence  of  his 
friends  the  Hogan-mogans.  Theodore  Hook'^ — Provost  Creech — 
and  Joseph  Gillon,  each  had  his  niche  in  this  Peristrephic  Panorama 
of  remembered  merriment,  and  of  each  he  told  us  innumerable  new 
anecdotes — new  to  us  at  least — which  we  would  give  not  a  little  to 
be  able  to  reproduce  for  the  edification  of  our  readers  ;  but  alas  !  it 
would  require  a  much  bolder  man  than  we  are  to  attempt  the  hazard- 
ous experiment  of  serving  up  such  dainties  in  a  hash. .  One  of  Joseph 
Gillon's  good  things,  however,  we  shall  venture  on,  because  the  wit 
of  it  is  of  that  kind  which  disdains  to  be  improved  by  passing  through 
the  lips  of  any  man,  even  of  Ballantyne.  Joseph  happened  to  be  in 
a  certain  pretty  numerous  party  at  Edinburgh  (would  he  had  never 

*  High  as  this  eulogy  is.  contemporary  report  fully  confirms  it.  Scott  used  to  call  John 
Ballantyne  by  the  name  of  Rigdiim  Futinidos,  while  to  his  brother  James,  who  was  pompous 
and  solemn,  he  gave  the  familiar  title  of  Jlldiboronte-p/ioscophornio. — M. 

t  Theodore  Edward  Hook,  whose  dramas  and  novels  have  been  very  popular,  and  show 
lively  wit  and  much  knowledge  of  the  world,  was  born  in  1788,  and  produced  his  first  play 
before  he  was  17.  The  work  of  fiction  called  "  Sayings  and  Doings,"  of  which  three  series 
were  published,  rank  among  his  best  works — but  others  were  popular  also,  such  as  Jack  Brag, 
Gilbert  Gurney  (in  which  he  sketched  some  of  his  own  adventures),  literally  filled  with 
fun.  He  was  editor  of  the  John  Bull,  a  London  newspaper,  commenced  in  order  to  aid  the 
Tory  party,  by  keen  and  humorous  attacks  upon  Queen  Caroline,  (wife  of  George  IV.)  in 
18-iO-2I.  In  that  journal  appeared  the  celebrated  Letters  of  Mrs.  Ramsbottom,  in  which,  follow- 
ing the  example  of  Smollet's  Winifred  Jenkins,  bad  spelling  was  managed  so  as  to  excite  the 
merriment  usually  elicited  by  humorous  writing.  Mr.  Thackeray  has  extended, perhaps  not  im- 
proved, this  description  of  composition.  As  an  improvisatore,  Hook  had  no  equal  in  England 
m  his  time.  He  died  in  August,  1841. — Creech  was  a  bookseller  in  Edinburgh,  who.  in  the 
early  part  of  the  present  century  was  the  Prince  of  the  Trade.  Well  educated  (for  he  had  been 
intended  for  the  church),  he  was  the  life  of  good  society,  a  capital  story-teller,  a  lively  com- 
panion, and  even  a  composer  oijeux  d''e$prit  for  the  newspapers.  He  attained  the  high  position 
of  Lord  Provost  of  Edinburgh,  but  the  publication  of  the  Edinburgh.  Review.,  by  Constable, 
may  be  said  to  have  virtually  dethroned  him. — Joseph  GiUon  was  a  W.  S.  (writer  of  the  Signet), 
and  I  believe,  eventually  became  one  of  the  door-keepers  in  the  House  of  Lords,  in  London. — M. 


40  CHEISTOPHEB   m   THE   TENT.  [Sept. 

left  US  !)  at  the  time  when  the  Northern  Whigs  were .  every  where 
exerting  their  lungs  in  the  first  of  those  systematic  blasts  which  have 
since  swelled  the  inflammable  balloon  of  Brougham  to  that  immode- 
rate bulk.  '•  Joseph,"  whispered  a  modest  Tory  in  company,  "  you 
have  seen  this  young  fellow — what  is  your  real  opinion  of  him  %  Do 
you  think  the  man  2vill  rise,  Joseph  .^"  "  Aye,"  quoth  Joseph,  "  I'll  be 
bound  he  will — at  a  general  rising.''''  One  day  Gillon  was  very 
unwell  (it  was  in  July),  and  Mr.  Ballantyne  went  to  visit  him.  He 
found  him  on  a  couch  in  his  writing  chamber,  surrounded  by  all  his 
clerks  and  apprentices ;  "  What,  Gillon,"  said  he,  "  this  place  is 
enough  to  kill  ye,  man,  it  is  as  hot  as  an  oven  ;"  "  and  what  for  no, 
man  f  cried  Joseph,  "  it's  the  place  whar  I  mak  my  bread,  man."* 
We  beg  pardon  for  these  stories ;  but  really  Joseph  was  a  true  wit. 
Why  does  he  not  try  his  hand  at  a  contribution  now  and  then  '?  But 
perhaps  the  worthy  "  door-keeper  in  the  Lord's  house"  would  have  a 
text  against  us  were  we  to  make  the  application. 

A  great  deal  of  his  talk  turned  also  [quis  dubitaverit  ?)  on  Paris. 
He  seems,  in  deed  and  in  truth,  to  have  done  wiiat  Miladi  Morgan  was 
said  to  have  done, — he'  has  seen  Paris  from  the  garret  to  the  saloon, 
from  the  Palais  Royal  to  the  Catacombs. f  We  had  great  pleasure 
in  hearing  his  account  of  all  the  strange  doings  and  goings  on  of  that 
remarkable  city — a  city  in  which  we  ourselves  have  spent  many 
happy — alas  !  very  happy  days  and  nights.  While  the  names  of  the 
modern  beaux  and  belles  of  that  Regal  City  fell  glibly  from  the  lips 
of  the  bibliopole,  faint  and  shadowy  visions  of  the  beaux  and  belles 
of  her  former  days  rose  in  dim  and  fleet  succession  before  our  too 
laithful  eye  of  imagination.  Kind,  jovial,  elegant  Due  de  la  Cirela- 
oouche,  friend  of  our  youth — friend  and  patron  ! — alas  !  where  be 
now  thy  petits  soupers  !  Beautiful,  radiant,  luxurious  Madame  la 
Biche  \\ but  wherefore  renew  yet  again  these  soul-piercing  retro- 
spections 1  While  we  were  in  the  midst  of  our  melancholy  abstrac- 
tion, our  friend  began  chanting,  in  his  own  light,  elastic,  bounding 
style,  that  excellent  French  song, — 

En  Angleterre  a  ce  qu'on  dit 

C'est  une  chose  des  plus  rares 
Mourii"  dans  son  lit — 
,   Ah !  ces  Anglais  barbares  ! 
Si  une  dame  est  cruelle 

Et  ne  laisse  rien  d'espoir — 
Son  adieu  a  la  belle — 

Est  par  corde  ou  razoir,  &,c.  <fec. 

"  By  the  way.  Monsieur  Jean,"  said  we,  "  did  you  take  any  lessons 

*  This  is  one  of  the  most  venerable  and  notorious  of  the  late  Mr.  Joseph  Miller's  Jokes. — M. 

t  John  Ballantyne  frequently  visited  the  Continent  to  purchase,  or  take  consignments  of 
articles  of  t'iViw,  ice,  for  his  very  celebrated  auctions  in  Hanover-street,  Edinburgh. — M. 

t  These  titles  appear  suspicious.  Cere-la-boucke  might  be  interpreted  -wax-mouth,  and  La 
Biche  reminds  us  of — a  dog's  sister. — M. 


1819.]  THE    SWOED    EXEKCISE.  41 

in  fencing  when  you  were  in  Paris  ?"  To  be  sure,"  said  he,  "  1  spent 
three  or  four  hours  every  morning  in  the  Salle  des  armes,  and  I 
believe  I  could  now  take  my  inches  even  at  contre  point  agiiinst  any 
swordsman  in  Scotland."  "  Not  so  fast,  friend,"  said  we,  "  not  quite 
so  fast,  neither.  Have  you  measured  foils  yet  with  Francalanza  ?"* 
"  No,  faith,"  quoth  he ;  "  but  I  have  seen  his  advertisement,  and 
shall  certainly  call  upon  him  the  very  day  I  return  to  Auld  Reekie." 
"  Have  your  doublet  well  lined  then,  Giovanni,"  we  returned,  "  and 
see  that  your  mask  sits  close  about  your  ears,  and  expect,  with  all 
your  precautions,  to  come  back  with  the  marks  of  his  button  between 
every  pair  of  your  ribs  ;  for  we  have  fenced  with  the  Rolands,  the 
Angelos,  and  most  of  the  amateurs  in  the  three  kingdoms — but 
Heaven  forbid  we  should  ever  venture  a  second  trial  with  this 
Italian!"  "An  Italian  is  he?"  cries  Ballantyne  ;  "I  think  I  have 
heard  his  name  mentioned  in  Paris."  "  Very  probably,"  said  we, 
"  he  is  well  known  there — he  fenced  a  great  many  years  ago  with 
Augereau,  who  said  he  had  the  finest  turn  of  a  wrist,  and,  without 
exception,  the  most  irresistible  pair  of  eyes  he  had  ever  met  with." 
"  The  marshal,"  quoth  John,  "  must  be  admitted  to  be  an  excellent 
judge  ;  he  is  allowed  to  be  the  first  homme-d' epee  in  all  France,  old 
as  he  is."  "  Our  own  Prince  Regent,"  we  continued,  "  is  not  a  bad 
judge  neither ;  and  we  have  reason  to  know  that  he  has  seen 
Francalanza  fence,  and  thinks  at  least  as  highly  of  him  as  Marshal 
Augereau. f  We  ourselves  have  heard  both  Leslie  and  Underwood, 
the  two  finest  amateur  swordsmen  in  these  islands,  bear  the  most 
unequivocal  testimony  to  his  merits  ;  we  used  to  meet  with  them 
often  at  his  rooms  in  Cateaton-street.  He  is  a  glorious  fellow— and 
let  us  tell  you,  Mr.  Ballantyne,  his  fingers  manage  the  guitar  just  as 
well  as  they  do  the  rapier.  He  sings  and  plays  much  in  the  same 
charming  style  with  that  prince  of  good  fellows  and  artists,  John 
Schetky."!  "  Why,  he  will  be  quite  an  acquisition,"  cried  Ballan- 
tyne ;  "  we  must  get  him  into  the  Dilettanti  with  all  speed,"  "  We 
wish  to  heavens  you  would  get  ourselves  into  the  Dilettanti,  Mr. 
John,"  returned  we  ;  "  we  have  spoken  of  it  ,a  thousand  times,  but 
you'll  never  condescend  to  propose  us  when  a  ballot  comes  about." 

*  Francalanza  and  Roland  were  eminent  fencing-masters,  in  Edinburgh,  in  1819. — M. 

t  Augereau,  one  of  Napoleon's  marshals,  created  Duke  of  Castiglione,  for  his  bravery  at  the 
battles  of  Ca.'stiglione  and  Areola,  in  1796.  He  served  Napoleon  faithfully,  yet,  on  his  fall  in 
1814.  was  one  of  the  first  to  join  the  Bourbons.  On  the  return  from  Elba,  in  1815,  be  offered  to 
serve  his  old  master,  who  declined  having  any  thing  to  do  with  him,  a  double  traitor. 
Augereau.  was  one  of  the  best  swordsmen  in  the  Grand  Army. — M. 

X  .lohn  Schetky  had  been  a  staff-surgeon,  under  Wellinijton.  in  the  Peninsular  War,  and  had 
attained  some  eminence,  as  an  amateur,  before  the  peace  of  1815  ended  his  professional  career. 
Settling  at  Edinburgh  he  earnestly  applied  himself  to  painting.  Dr.  Morris  (Lockhartj  says, 
in  Peter's  Lstters,  "  that  his  trees— his  rocks — his  Pyrenees,  seem  to  breathe  and  be  alive  with 
the  spirit  of  their  Ma.ker,  and  he  has  no  superior,  but  one  [Turner  ?].  in  every  thing  that  regards 
the  grand  and  mysterious  eloquence  of  the  cloud  and  sky."  Schetky  was  one  of  the  Dilettanti 
Society,  of  wliich  Wilson  was  president,  which  may  account  for  the  friendly  notice  of  him  as 
above.-  M. 


42  CHRISTOPHER   IN   THE  TENT. 


[Sept. 


"  Wait  a  little  ;  have  patience,  my  dear  Editor,"  cried  John  ;  "  there's 
a  braw  time  coming  yet."  We  shall  keep  our  eye  upon  Mr.  John 
Ballantyne  next  winter,  and,  depend  on  it,  if  he  neglects  to  introduce 
us  to  this  illustrious  society,  we  shall  not  be  easily  pacified.*  In  the 
mean  time,  seeing  that  we  had  given  him  a  little  offence,  we  pro- 
posed to  enliven  our  journey  by  singing  a  few  duets  together,  which 
we  did.  We  think  both  of  us  were  particularly  happy  in  that 
exquisite  genuine  old  High  Dutch  one, — 

Persantribat  clericus 

Lurch  einem  griinem  imldt 
Videbat  ibi  stantem,  stantem,  stantem, 

Ein  Magdelein  wohlgentallt 
Salva  sis  puellula 

Godt  gruss  dich  Magdelein  fein,  &.Q,.,  <fec. 

"  I  hope,"  said  Ballantyne,  "  that  you  will  return  to  Edinburgh  in 
time,  at  least,  for  the  grand  Musical  Festival.  We  never  could  do 
without  you.  By  the  way,  I  cannot  but  be  rather  surprised  that  you 
are  not  one  of  the  directors,  Mr.  Editor." — We  assured  our  good 
friend,  that  the  omission  of  our  name  in  that  list  was  entirely  owing 
to  ourselves ;  that  it  had  been  early  put  down  by  Lord  Gray  ;f  but 
we  hate  all  kind  of  notoriety,  and  therefore  requested  his  Lordship 
to  be  so  good  as  to  withdraw  our  name,  at  the  same  time  promising 
him,  or  any  other  of  the  directors,  every  assistance  and  advice  in  our 
power,  "  You  see  that  we  are  to  have  Dragonetti's  double  bassj; — 
what  a  perfect  volcano  ! — a  very  earthquake  it  is,  Mr.  Editor  ! — but 
I  am  extremely  anxious  that  you  should  hear  little  Signora  Corri." — 
"  Hear  little  Signora  Corri !"  we  replied  :  "  have  we  not  dandled  the 
little  syren  on  our  knee  a  hundred  times,  when  she  was  in  frock  1  and 
were  not  we  ourselves  the  first  to  prophecy  her  future  noise  in  the 
world,  and  suggest  to  her  papa  the  propriety  of  sending  her  to  Cata- 
lani  ?||  Those  were  pleasant  nights,  John,  when  we  used  to  sit  at  the 
long  supper-table  of  Signor  Corri,  and  sometimes  inspirited  by  no- 
yeau  and  cherry  bounce,  venture  our  own  cracked  voice  in  a  glee ; 

*  The  Dilettanti  of  Edinburgh  professed  to  be  arbitri  elegantiarum  in  all  matters  of  art  and 
taste,  but  really  did  little  more  than  eat  good  dinners,  and  spend  social  evenings  at  Young's 
Tavern.— M. 

f  A  Scottish  peer,  and  not  to  be  confounded  with  the  English  Earl  Grey,  Prime  Minister, 
183()-'34.— M. 

X  What  Bottesini  is  in  1854  (the  best  double-bass  in  the  world),  Dominico  Dragonetti  was  in 
ISiO,  and  for  jnore  than  twenty  years  after. — M. 

II  Angelica  Catalani,  who  made  her  debut  at  Rome  in  1802;  her  inimediate  and  immense 
succes.s  obtained  her  excellent  engagements  at  the  principal  theatres  in  Italy.  New  triumphs 
awaited  her  at  Lisbon,  Madrid,  and  Paris,  which  were  outshone  by  her  brilliant  success  in  Lon- 
don in  18(J(J.  She  remained  eight  years  in  England,  singing  at  the  Italian  Opera,  and  in  the 
provinces.  After  the  Restoration  she  went  to  Paris,  became  manager  of  the  Opera  BufFa  there, 
lost  her  money,  returned  to  England  in  18t2-2,  and  was  greeted  as  an  old  and  deserving  favorite. 
In  ]8'25  she  commenced  a  farewell  round  of  engagements  in  the  chief  European  cities,  and  re- 
turned in  1830.  In  her  youth  she  was  handsome,  and  had  a  good  figure  ;  when  I  saw  her,  in 
1828,  she  was  middle-aged  and  stout,  but  her  voice  had  wonderful  brilliancy  and  power.  Her 
husband,  a  French  officer,  named  Valaberque,  used  to  say,  "  Doo  or  dreepoupets  and  mine  lady 
— voila  the  opera."     She  died  of  cholera,  in  1849,  at  Paris. — M. 


1819.]  mTEETOR   OF   THE   TENT.  43 

but,  in  truth,  ear  is  everything — '  tutto,  tutto,  tutto  ;' — as  the  Corri 
used  to  say,  '  I  do  like  vast  well  for  to  hear  Signor  Christophero 
sing  //  suo  gusto  e  jierfetto!'  " 

A  message  from  our  compositor  forces  us  to  cut  short,  and  to  re- 
serve for  another  Number  our  account  of  Dunkeld,  and  other  noble 
Highland  scenery  which  we  visited  on  our  way  to  the  Tent.  Indeed 
we  have  whole  volumes  in  our  brain  about  the  Highlands,  and  can 
never  hope  to  live  long  enough  to  utter  all  we  think,  feel,  and  know 
of  that  wonderful  country.  For  the  present,  gentle  reader,  imagine 
yourself  sitting  between  ourselves  and  Mr.  Ballantyne  a  little  for- 
ward on  the  seat  for  the  sake  of  room,  and  once  more  behold  our 
Tent  rising  before  you,  almo^  like  a  native  production — that  snow- 
white  graceful  pyramid.  Who  are  those  figures  issuing  from  the 
door  '? — Need  you  ask  % — Tickler  and  the  Standard-bearer.  Mr.  Bal- 
lantyne gently  pulled  up  Old  Mortality,  when  about  quarter  of  a 
mile  from  the  Tent,  and  took  out  of  his  pocket  that  seven-league 
spy-glass  of  his,  presented  to  him  by  Adie,  that  most  piercing  of  op- 
ticians ;  and  putting  it  into  our  hands,  said,  "  Tak  a  keek  at  the  cal- 
lans."  We  did  so — and  Tickler  and  Odoherty  seemed  standing  by 
the  very  nose  of  Old  Mortality.  The  Sage  had  a  prodigious  whisky- 
bottle  in  his  hand,  from  which  the  Adjutant  was  receiving  a  bumper 
with  a  steady  hand  and  determined  countenance ;  and  never  saw  we 
any  mortal  man  take  "  his  morning"  with  more  relish — we  almost 
thought  we  heard  the  smack  of  his  lips,  as  the  warm  genial  fluid  de- 
scended into  his  penetralia.  "  Give  me  a  keek,"  said  the  Bibliopole. 
He  applied  the  tube  to  his  ogles  ;  but  just  as  he  had  caught  a  glimpse 
of  Tickler  in  the  act  of  having  the  compliment  returned  by  the  Stand- 
ard-bearer, a  fine  hare  sprung  up  from  a  bush  on  the  roadside,  and 
after  her  away  scoured  Dominie  Sampson.  Mr.  Ballantyne  bounced 
out  of  the  dennet  as  if  he  had  been  discharged  from  a  catapulta,  and 
lighting  upon  his  feet,  he  joined  the  pursuit  straight  up  a  steep,  stony, 
heathy  hill,  shouting  aloud,  "  Halloo  !  halloo  !  halloo  !"  and  was  out 
of  sight  in  less  than  no  time.  We  laid  the  reins  on  Old  Mortality's 
back,  and  told  him  to  jog  on  quietly  to  the  Tent.  "  God  bless  you 
all,  our  dear  Contributors,"  was  all  we  could  say,  for  our  heart  was 
full  to  behold  them  again  all  looking  so  well,  and  so  happy  to  see 
us.  When  the  first  burst  of  congratulation  was  over,  we  were  espe- 
cially delighted  to  see  Tims,  whom  we  again  shook  cordially  by  the 
hand,  his  little  finger  being  now,  he  said,  quite  healed  under  the  care 
of  Drs.  Scott  and  Morris.  Tims  seemed  quite  an  altered  man.  He 
had  let  his  beard  grow,  that  he  might  have  a  rural,  a  pastoral  ap- 
pearance, like  the  Ettrick  Shepherd ;  and  he  was  ready  to  leap  out 
of  his  skin  when  we  remarked  the  resemblance.  This  beard  of  his 
consisted  of  perhaps  about  one  hundred  hairs,  seemingly  very  soft 
and  silky,  and  altogether  of  a  diflTerent  character  from  the  mustachios 


44:  CHEISTOPHEE   m   THE   TENT.  [Sept. 

of  the  10th  Hussars.  "  My  dear  Tims,  you  are  a  perfect  Aaron." — 
"I  h'ant  shove  since  you  went  away  to  Scotland,"  said  the  little  ex- 
ulting Cockney — "neither  no  more  has  Pricey."  The  gentleman 
designated  by  this  endearing  diminutive  then  caught  my  eye,  and 
beard  enough  he  had  with  a  vengeance.  Price  is  a  big  lumbering 
fellow,  not  so  much  amiss  in  the  way  of  good  looks ;  and-  we  do  not 
know  how  it  is,  but  he  always  reminds  us  of  that  able-bodied  barber, 
who  comes  lollopping  into  one's  bed-room,  of  a  morning,  in  the  Old 
Hummums,  Covent-Garden,  insisting  upon  the  immediate  detonsure 
of  you,  nolentis  volentis.  But  we  had  little  time  to  spend  upon 
Mister  Price  and  his  whiskers ;  for  we  missed  Dr.  Scott  in  the 
throng,  and  loudly  called  for  the  Odontist.  Alas !  he  too  soon  ap- 
peared, mounted  upon  his  white  pony — in  every  respect  the  same 
vision  that  so  delighted  us  some  weeks  ago. 

"  But,  ohon  !  the  Doctor's  departure  is  near, 
Umbrella  unfurled,  and  mounted  bis  gear." 

"  It's  a  sad  thing,  Mr.  Editor,  for  freens  to  part ;  but  aff  I  maun 
gang ;  I  deliver  up  the  Tent  and  the  Contributors  all  hale  and  hearty 
into  your  ain  hauns  (the  Doctor  had  been  Viceroy  during  our  ab- 
sence), see  you  keep  them  a'  as  quate  as  I  hae  done.  O  !  he's  a  sair 
rumpawger,  that  Odoherty,  and  gude  faith.  Tickler's  but  little  better. 
Mr.  Buller,*  with  the  brazen  nose,  is  a  fine  civil,  clever,  weel-informed 
laddie  ;  and  I  canna  say  that  I  dislike  that  Seward  either  ;  but  ye  ken 
a'  their  characters  brawly  yoursel' — so,  fareweel — fareweel.  O  ! 
Mr.  Editor,  I'm  maist  like  to  greet."  We  need  not  say  how  much 
affected  we  ourselves  were ;  and  v/e  wanted  words  to  express  our 
concern  when  the  Ettrick  Shepherd  advanced,  and  proposed  a  round 
of  genuine  Glasgow  punch  (from  a  small  bowl  which  he  held  in  his 
fist)  to  the  health  of  the  worthy  Doctor,  a  safe  journey,  and  a  hearty 
welcome  in  No.  7,  Millar-street.  Just  as  the  Doctor  had  received 
his  glass,  the  Shepherd  threw  his  plaid  over  his  shoulder,  and  fixing 
his  honest  light  grey  eyes,  swimming  in  tears,  on  the  departing  Odon- 
tist, he  thus  gave  vent  to  his  own  and  our  feelings  in  immortal  song. 

l'eNVOY  ;    AN  EXCELLENT    NEW  SONG  IN  HONOR  OF  DR.  SCOTT. 
By  the  Ettrick  Shepherd. 
Tune — "  Grammachree." 
1. 
Draw  water  of  the  coldest — draw  ye  water  from  the  spring, 
And  heaps  of  snow-white  sugar  into  the  china  fling, 
And  squeeze  the  fairest  lemon,  and  pour  the  richest  rum, 
That  our  parting  mayn't  be  dry  at  least,  although  it  may  be  dumb. 

♦John  Hughes  (  son  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Hughes,  a  Canon  Residentiary  of  St.  PauTs,  London), 
who  is  known  to  1he  readers  of  Ebony  as  ''Buller  of  Brazennose,"  had  his  Itinerary  of  the 
Rhone  kindly  and  favorably  noticed  by  Scott,  in  the  Introduction  to  Quentin  Durward.  In  a 
poem  by  Mr.  Hughes,  entitled  "  Walter  Childe,"'  published  in  Bentley's  Miscellany,  in  1838, 
there  is  an  elegant  and  affectionate  tribute  to  Scott's  memory. — M. 


1819.1  l'envoy.  45 


2. 


We'll  consecrate  a  bumper,  and  a  bumper  of  the  best — 
We'll  consecrate  a  bumper  to  speed  our  going  guest ; 
And  we'll  pour  the  dear  libation,  with  the  tear-drops  in  our  een, 
For  a  noble  fellow's  leaving  us,  and  a  nobler  ne'er  was  seen. 


With  right  good  will  we'd  keep  him — we  would  keep  him  in  our  Tent ; 
But  since  go  he  must — oh  !  lightly  be  his  course  out  owre  the  bent — 
May  his  pony's  feet  be  steady,  through  the  heather  and  the  whins, 
And  may  ne'er  a  thorn  hae  power  to  jag  the  hide  upon  his  shins. 


May  that  pftny  ne'er  be  startled  by  brackenbush  or  post — 
May  no  stravaiging  heifer  be  mistaken  for  a  ghost — 
May  no  reaver  bands  disturb  him,  though,  in  crossing  of  yon  hill, 
He'll  perhaps  have  no  objection  for  to  stuuable  on  a  still. 


Oh !  may  the  skies  be  crystal  clear  above  you  as  you  ride, 

And  the  sun  be  shining  briglitly  upon  the  mountains'  side. 

That  the  brightness  and  the  beauty  may  cheer  you  as  ye  go. 

And  your  heart  may  dance  within  you  like  a  young  and  happy  roe  1 

6. 

May  ye  ne'er  want  for  good  quarters  to  rest  yourself  at  e'en — 
A  bonny  lass  to  stir  the  fire — and  a  table-cloth  fu'  clean ; 
And  when  ye  rise  at  cock-crow,  may  that  lassie's  hand  be  nigh 
To  reach  the  stirrup  goblet,  and  sweetly  say — Good-bye. 


O  bly the  be  a'  your  journey,  and  blythe  your  coming  home, 
That  oft  ye  may  take  heart  again  in  tlie  merry  hearst  to  roam  ; 
And  whene'er  the  Doctor's  roaming — oh !  near  him  may  we  be. 
For  meikle  can  we  do  without,  but  not  his  canty  e'e. 


Meantime,  if  worth  and  kindness  be  beauteous  in  your  eyes. 

And  if  genius  be  a  jewel,  all  with  one  accord  you'll  rise ; 

You'll  rise,  my  lads,  as  I  do,  and  toss  your  cups  Avith  me. 

To — Blessings  on  the  Doctor's  head !  with  a  hearty  three  times  three  ! 

During  the  recitation  of  these  noble  verses,  Dr.  Scott  occasionally 
hid  his  face  with  his  umbrella,  and  often  cast  up  his  eyes  to  heaven. 
"  Too,  too  much,"  he  would,  sometimes  exclaim,  in  a  choked,  tremu- 
lous voice,  but  when  the  L'Envoy  ceased,  he  seemed  "rapt,  in- 
spired ;"  and  rising  upon  his  stirrups,  and  at  the  same  time  elevating 
his  umbrella,  till  the  whoje  man  and  his  accoutrements  seemed  some- 
thing more  than  mortal,  he  chanted  the  following  hymn : — 


46  CHEISTOPHEE   IN   THE   TENT.  [Sept. 

DR.    SCOTt's    farewell    TO    BRAEMAR. 
Air — "  Loebaber." 
1. 
Farewell,  then,  ye  mountains  in  mystery  piled, 

Wbere  tbe  birth-place  and  home  of  the  tempest  is  found  ; 
Farewell,  ye  red  torrents  all  foaming  and  wild  ; 
Farewell  to  your  dreamy  and  desolate  sound ; 
And  farewell,  ye  wide  plains,  where  the  heath  and  the  fern 
Bloom  in  beauty  forlorn,  while  above  them  is  skimming, 
Far  up  in  the  rack,  the  majestical  Earne, 

To  the  lone  ear  of  Nature  his  orison  hymning. 

2. 
And  farewell  to  thy  shadow,  thou  Queen  of  Pavillions, 

Pitched  on  turf  that  is  smooth  as  the  eider-bird's  wing, 
'Neath  the  dais  of  his  splendor,  the  monarch  of  millions 

Might  envy  the  bliss  that  hath  hallowed  thy  ring  ! 
What  is  purple,  that  floats  in  the  weight  of  perfume, 

And  the  gold-circled  mirrors  that  parasites  see, 
To  the  rich  twilight-breath  of  the  languishing  broom, 

And  the  pure  native  crystal  of  pastoral  Dee  ? 

3. 
And  farewell  to  the  friends  that  I  leave  in  thy  shade, 

Wit,  mirth,  and  affection  exalting  their  cheer ! 
Oh  !  ne'er  shall  their  forms  from  my  memory  fade : 

Still,  whate'er  may  be  absent,  my  heart  shall  be  here; 
Though  o'er  flood,  field,  and  mountain  my  wanderings  be  wide, 

Back,  still  back  to  Braemar  faithful  fancy  shall  flee, 
And  the  beauty  of  Kelvin — the  grandeur  of  Clyde — 

Shall  but  deepen  my  sigh  for  the  banks  of  the  Dee. 

4. 
Yet  one  cup  ere  we  part,  ye  dear  friends  of  my  bosom  ! 

One  sweet-flowing  measure — one  more — only  one  ! 
Life's  gay  moments  are  few  :  then  why  needlessly  lose  'em  ? 

You'll  have  plenty  of  time  for  regrets  when  I'm  gone. 
In  dulness  to  meet,  and  in  dryness  to  part, 

Suits  the  barren  of  feeling,  the  narrow  of  soul — 
Be  it  ouYR,  lads,  the  gladness,  the  grief  of  the  heart 

To  improve,  to  assuage,  by  the  juice  of  the  bowl ! 

Long  did  every  straining  eye  follow  the  Doctor,  till  the  last  green" 
gleam  of  his  umbrella  faded  in  the  distant  woods.  "  An  hon ester — 
better — cleverer  fallow  's  no  in  a'  Scotland  than  that  very  same  Doc- 
tor whom  we  have  lost,"  said  the  Shepherd ;  with  which  eulogy  we 
all  cordially  agreed  ;  while  Buller,  turning  toward  our  own  person, 
repeated  sonorously  from  Aristophanes — 

Nfx''  aov  epyov  t$-',  i^eiSij 
Trjv  q-o7ir]v  eL?i7j(psg,  rjvzaep 
Et;t;ef  e^  apxvc — ^(i?.iv 
'Avavea^eiv  cavrov  aiei, 


1819.]  THE   ROLL-CALL.  47 

KaL  (SXe-ujstv  avdtg  to  Seivov. 
EcSe  7:!apa?i?jpo)v  d2,coae(., 
Kai  (BaT^yg  n  fLaWaKov, 
AvOcg  alpeaOai  a'  avayKr] 
Efi  ■aakiv  ra  g^pufiara. 

We  did  not,  however,  come  to  the  Tent  to  indulge  unavailing 
sorrow ;  so  w^e  issued  two  regimental  orders,  one  for  our  breakfast 
and  dinner  conjoined,  without  loss  of  time  ;  and  another  for  a  general 
muster  of  Contributors  in  the  Tent  after  mess,  to  take  into  considera- 
tion the  state  of  the  Magazine.  There  is  no  occasion  to  describe  the 
dejeuner  d  la  fourchette  ;  and  after  it  the  Editor  hung  out  his  well- 
known  signal — "Scotland  expects  every  man  to  do  his  duty." 

We  knew  that  the  eyes  of  our  country  were  upon  us,  and  felt  con- 
fident of  the  result.  On  the  roll  being  called  by  the  Adjutant,  not  a 
man  was  missing  from  his  post.  The  coup  (jfoeil  was  most  imposing. 
Wastle  took  his  seat  at  one  corner  of  the  table,  almost  in  the  open 
air,  in  the  same  full  court-dress  which  attracted  so  much  notice  last 
May  when  he  walked  with  the  Commissioner ;  immediately  opposite 
the  Laird,  Morris  sported  his  black  silk  stock,  and  richly-furred  sur- 
tout  ;*  on  the  Physician's  right  hand  sat,  in  earnest  confabulation, 
Buller  of  Brazennose  in  his  cap  and  gown,  both  he  and  Seward  hav- 
ing brought  their  academical  dress  down  to  Scotland  to  astonish  the 
natives  ;  between  ourselves  and  Buller  sat  Mr.  Price  in  the  cap,  or, 
as  Tims  called  it,  the  black  silk  bonnet  of  the  Surrey  hunt,  and  kept 
his  eyes  fixed,  with  unceasing  wonder,  on  Bailie  Jarvie,  who,  in  a  full 
suit  of  black,  with  his  "  three  cockit"  and  gold  chain,  looked  up  gashly 
in  our  face  from  the  right,  and  obviously  contained  within  himself  the 
germ  or  elements  of  future  Dean  of  Guild  and  my  Lord  Provost  of 
Glasgow;  on  the  Bailie's  right  shoulder,  that  is  behind  it,  for  he  of  the 
Salt-market  absolutely  turned  his  back  on  him  of  Ludgate,  sat  Tims, 
with  a  strange  mixture  of  self  importance  from  feeling  himself  one  of 
the  Tent,  and  of  personal  fear  from  being  at  such  an  immense  distance 
from  the  sound  of  Bow-Bell,  which  expression  of  face  was  not  lessened 
by  the  consciousness  of  the  immediate  contiguity  of  Tickler,  who  had 
stretched  as  many  feet  of  his  legs  beneath  the  table  as  possible,  to 
bring  his  head  on  a  line  with  the  organization  of  the  other  in-door 
Contributors ;  behind  Dr.  Morris  sat  Kempferhausen,  who  had 
mounted  his  Hanseatic  Legion  cap ;  and  on  his  right  stood  uncovered 
the  jocund  Bibliopole,  with  a  face  incommunicable  both  to  copper  and 
canvas  ;  in  front  sat  Seward,  with  all  the  gracefulness  of  a  Christ- 
church  man,  on  a  cask  of  whisky,  from  which  John  of  Sky  ever  and 
anon  let  oflf  a  quech  of  the  dew,  unnoticed  from  behind  ;  at  Seward's 

*  In  Peter's  Letters  there  is  a  description  of  this  suit  (a  deputy-lie'utenant''s  uniform  of  blue 
and  red,)  with  the  little  cross  of  Dannebrog),  and  the  frontispiece  (an  imaginary  portrait)  shows 
Dr.  Morris,  attired  in  a  coat  with  a  collar  of  rich  fur.— M. 


48  CHRISTOPHEE  IN  THE  TENT.  [Sept. 

right  hand  lay  in  his  plaid  the  Ettrick  Shepherd,  his  attention  wholly 
absorbed  by  a  large  salmon  that  was  floating  exhausted  to  the  bank 
in  tow  of  Wastle's  tall  valet,  who  had  become  quite  a  prime  angler 
under  the  tuition  of  Walter  Ritchie  ;  but  we  refer  the  world  to  the 
Frontispiece,  which  was  sketched  on  the  spot  by  Odoherty,  the  only 
departure  from  truth  of  any  great  moment,  being  the  introduction 
of  Dr.  Scott,  whom  the  literary  and  scientific  world  will  easily  recog- 
nize in  the  portly  figure  smoking  a  pipe  of  tobacco  on  the  foreground 
to  the  left  of  the  chairman.  The  affection  of  the  Adjutant  could  not 
be  satisfied  without  this  tribute  to  his  much-regretted  brother  bard, 
and  he  has  introduced  his  own  figure  with  foraging-cap,  &c.,  reposing 
close  by  the  side  of  the  Odontist,* 

When  Kempferhausen  sat  down,  after  reading  an  essay  on,  the  cha- 
racter and  manners  of  the  Tyrolese,  we  must  say,  that  the  feeling  up- 
permost in  our  mind  was  one  of  regret  that  he  should  have  brought 
it  so  speedily  to  a  termination.  In  looking  round  the  Tent,  however, 
it  is  not  to  be  denied  that  we  observed  some  slight  symptoms,  as  if 
the  whole  of  our  friends  had  not  been  quite  so  uniformly  and  unin- 
terruptedly delighted  as  ourselves.  In  short,  Tickler,  Odoherty,  and 
the  Ettrick  Shepherd,  manifested  pretty  plainly,  that  they  thought 
the  Hamburgher  was  still  somewhat  subject  to  his  old  infirmity  of 
amplification.  Wastle  and  Morris,  on  the  contrary,  Jarvie,  Mullion, 
and  Buller  of  Brazennose,  were  enthusiastic  in  their  applauses  of  the 
German's  Essay ;  and,  supported  by  their  decision,  we  could  not  hesi- 
tate to  express  to  the  Essayist  himself,  our  conviction  that  his  powers 
were  expanding  themselves  in  a  manner  most  luxuriantly  promising, 
and  our  hope  and  confidence  that  henceforth  he  would  form  one  of 
the  most  efficient  and  vigorous  of  all  our  Contributors.  The  Shep- 
herd remarked,  that  "  the  Essay  might  be  a  braw  essay  for  aught  he 
kenned,  but  he  was  sure  it  was  an  unco  lang  ane — and  luik,"  quoth 
he,  "gin  Hector  be  not  shaking  himself  frae  side  to  side,  and  yawning 

and  nuzzling  as  if  he  had  been  listening  to  ane  of  Mr.  E of 

Y 'sf  very  weariesomest  action-sermons.     The  lad  will  not  be  the 

worse  of  a  glass  to  weet  his  whistle  ony  way." — "  Gie  him  a  bumper 

*This  refers  to  an  outline  sketch,  so  indifferent  in  execution,  that  we  do  not  think  it  worth 
while  to  have  it  engraved.  In  later  editions  of  this  number  of  Maga  this  sketch  was  not 
given. — M. 

I  Of  this  excellent  gentleman  we  embrace  this  opportunity  of  recording  an  interesting  anec- 
dote. Some  years  ago,  when  the  Ettrick  Shepherd  had  Dr.  Anderson  (editor  of  the  British 
Poets)  and  Mr.  Wordsworth  (author  of  the  Excursion)  as  his  guests  in  Yarrow,  he  carried  them 
one  forenoon  to  eat  some  bread  and  cheese  in  the  manse,  and  taste  the  minister's  home-brevv-ed, 
v^hich  is  proverbial  for  its  good  qualities  in  that  part  of  the  country.  During  this  cold  colla- 
tion, a  great  deal  of  highly  instructive  and  intellectual  conversation  occurred,  a;;  might  have 
naturally  been  expected,  at  a  meeting  of  four  such  gifted  men.  As  they  were  going  away,  the 
minister  called  back  Hogg,  and— "  Faith,  Jemmy."  said  he,  "he's  a  fine  chiel  that  Words- 
-vvorth — he's  very  discreet  and  well-informed.  I  really  never  heard  of  a  horse-couper  quoting 
poetry  before  in  all  my  life."  It  is  almost  needless  to  observe,  that  the  excellent  minister  had 
supposed  himself  to  be  entertaining  the  eminent  horse-dealer  of  Leith  Walk, — a  conjecture 
which  was  doubtless  sufficiently  natural,  considering  Hogg's  well-known  love  for  appearing 
at  the  weekly  sales  at  that  gentleman's  repository.  The  Shepherd,  we  suppose,  now  unde- 
ceived him. — C.  N. 


181^.] 


EWNBtJBGH   REVIEW.  49 


by  all  means,"  quoth  Jarvie ; — "  indeed,  if  he  were  to  get  his  right, 
he  would  get  mair  nor  a^ne,  for  here's  twa  or  three  that  have  not  been 
dry  listeners — only  look,  Ml*.  Tickler,  we've  scarcely  left  enough  to 
fang^  anither  bowl." — "You  may  make  the  next  one  yourself, 
Bailie,"  says  Tickler,  "  for  it's  my  turn  to  be  spokesman — you  know 
the  article  goes  round  the  opposite  way  from  the  bottle."  Then 
turning  to  the  chair, — "  Mr.  Editor,"  continued  the  Senior,  "  we've 
got  a  new  Number  of  the  Edinburgh  Review  since  you  left  us,  and. 
If  you  please,  I  shall  read  a  few  remarks  I  have  jotted  down  concern- 
ing it,  I  would  not  have  taken  so  much  trouble,  only  I  was  surprised 
to  see  them  holding  up  their  heads  so  briskly  on  some  points,  con- 
sidering what  a  nailer  you  gave  them  so  very  lately." 

"  Go  on,  Mr.  Tickler,"  we  interrupted ;  "  you  need  not  hesitate  to 
enter  upon  any  topic  from  fear  of  being  tedious.  As  yet  nihil  quod 
ietigisti  nmi  oriiastl ;  and  even  here  we  have  no  doubt,  materiam  su- 
perabit  opusP'' — Encouraged  by  these  words,  the  Sage  drew  down 
his  spectacles  from  his  forehead,  and  after  clearing  his  throat  with  a 
few  portentous  hems,  he  thrust  his  left  hand  in  his  waistcoat  pocket, 
and  stretching  forth  the  dexter  with  its  MSS.  to  within  a  few  inches 
of  ourself,  began  to  read  a^  follows  in  a  distinct  voice.  The  myste- 
rious music  of  some  of  his  solemn  cadences,  seemed  at  first  to  alarm 
and  astonish  the  southern  part  of  his  hearers,  but  the  strong  sense  of 
the  man  soon  overcame  all  these  lesser  emotions,  and  seldom  has 
even  a  Tickler  been  listened  to  by  a  more  attentive  auditory. 

[Mr.  Tickler's  comments  on  an  old  number  of  the  Edinburgh  Be- 
rne to  so  little  suit  the  humor  which  prevailed  in  "  the  Tent,"  that 
they  are  omitted  altogether,] 

Here  Tickler  ceased,  and  a  low  breathing  of  applause  from  every 
auditor  around  hailed  him  on  the  conclusion  of  his  labors.  The  vete- 
ran was  then  invited  by  Mr.  Mullion  to  refresh  himself  with  a  glass 
of  Mrs.  Weddel's  best  cherry  brandy  from  a  private  bottle,  which 
that  worthy  produced  for  the  first  time  on  this  occasion.  Dr.  Mor- 
ris pledged  him,  and  then,  with  great  good  humor,  made  a  number 
of  little  remarks  on  the  elaborate  performance  he  had  just  been  hear-, 
ing.  We  ourselves  made  only  one  single  observation,  and  it  referred 
entirely  to  the  last  sentence  of  Mr.  Tickler's  paper,  in  which  allusion 
is  made  to  the  soft  sighs  breathed  by  the  Edinburgh  Reviewers  over 
some  of  the  supposed  inconveniences  of  the  present  situation  of  the 
Ex-Emperor,  f  Among  other  things  we  remarked,  the  Reviewers 
seemed  to  pity  Bonaparte  very  much,  because  he  is  restricted  from 
reading  their  journal — in  spite,  as  they  would  insinuate,  of  his  earnest 

*  We  believe,  that  to  fan^  a  lodl  signifies  to  pour  into  it  sufficient  liquid  to  set  the  pump  at 
work  again.— C.  N.  ^ 

t  Napoleon.     He  did  not  die  until  May,  1821.— M. 
VOL.  I.  3 


60  CHEISTOPHEE   IN   THE   TENT.  [Sept. 

quarterly  longings  after  a  participation  in  that  great  intellectual  l^an- 
quet — and  indeed  they  show  pretty  plainly  that  they  consider  this  a 
still  more  grievous  kind  of  restriction  than  the  short  commons  to 
which  their  hero  is  supposed  to  be  reduced,  in  regard  to  bread, 
cheese,  mutton,  garlic,  and  charenton.*  Now  it  so  happens,  that  we 
have  good  reason  to  know  this  is  a  point  on  which  Bonaparte  himself 
is  very  far  from  soliciting  the  sympathies  of  his  admirers.  Our  ex- 
cellent old  friend,  Colonel  Tehrszen  of  the  53d,  was  lately  in  St.  He- 
lena, on  his  way  to  India,  and  he  writes  to  us,  that  he  paid  a  visit  of 
several  hours'  length  to  the  Emperor,  with  whom,  on  a  previous  oc- 
casion, he  had  formed  a  very  considerable  intimacy.  Thinking  it 
might  amuse  the  illustrious  captive,  the  colonel  carried  a  late  number 
of  the  Edinburgh  Review  with  him  to  Longwood,  and  laid  it  on  the 
table  when  he  was  about  to  take  his  leave,  "^a  /"  cried  Bonaparte 
— (the  Reviewers  themselves  have  remarked  with  what  power  this 
monosyllable  expresses  the  feeling  of  contempt^  when  uttered  by  those 
imperial  lips,) — '■'■Ha!  quoi  done!  encore  plus  de  ces  brochures^  a 
bleu  et  a  jaune  ?  Je  croyois  que  cette  Turlupinade  Id  etoit  tomb^e 
tout-a-fait  il-y-a  longtemps.''^ — Then  turning  over  the  leaves,  he  came 
upon  something  about  himself, — "Peste!"  cried  he,  "(7e  petit  Jeffre 
pourquoi  fait-il  toujours  de  telles  sottises  sur  mon  sujet?  Je  hais  ce 
Nain  envieux — II  n'entend  rien  sur  les  grandes  choses  ni  sur  les 
grands  homines,  et  voila  comme  il  parle !"  A  few  minutes  after- 
wards, he  asked  Colonel  Fehrszen  why  he  had  not  rather  brought  a 
number  or  two  of  Blackwood's  Magazine  with  him  ?  adding,  that  he 
had  seldom  laughed  so  heartily  as  when  Mr.  Baxterf  sent  him  the 
Number  containing  the  first  part  of  Odoherty 's  Memoirs.  Our  mod- 
esty prevents  us  from  repeating  all  that  he  said  in  our  praise,  but  we 
may  be  pardoned  for  mentioning  the  last  of  the  sentences  he  addressed 
at  this  time  to  the  colonel.  "Je  vous  conjure,  mon  cher  colonel, 
d'ecrire  a  votre  ami  M.  le  Conducteur^  qu'il  m'envoye  ce  journal 
aussi  regulierement  qu'l  soit  possible.  Pour  V Edinburgh  Review — 
ma  foi ! — lis  sont  culbutes — renverses — ecrases, — abimes — Au  diable 
avec  ces  vieiix  fripons  Id!     lis  ont perdu  la  tete  /" 

After  such  a  narration  as  this,  we  could  not  do  less  than  propose  a 
bumper  to  the  good  health  of  General  Bonaparte! — a  toast  which 
was  accepted  in  high  glee  by  the  whole  of  this  assemblage  ;  even  the 
Ettrick  Shepherd  felt  all  his  old  prejudices  entirely  thawed  by  the 
sweet  though  distant  rays  of  ex-imperial  admiration,  and  chanted  an 
extempore  parody  on  "  Tho'  he's  back  be  at  the  wa',"  the  sentiments 
of  which  would  not,  on  reflection,  be  thoroughly  approved  by  his 
legitimate  understanding.     On  looking  round  for  the  next  article, 

*  Said  to  be  the  favorite  beverage  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte  and  Timothy  Tickler,  Esq. — C.  N. 
t  The  present  surgeon  to  Sir  Hudson  Lowe. — C.  N. 

I  We  may  add,  in  excuse  of  this  toast,  that  Bonaparte  hinted  to  the  Colonel  his  intention  of 
being,  at  no  distant  date,  a  contributor  to  our  Miscella.ny. — C.  N. 


1819.]  KA^T   AND   COLEEIDGE.  51 

Wastle  and  Odoherty  offered  themselves  at  the  same  moment  to  our 
notice,  and  we  had  some  difficulty  in  deciding  to  which  of  the  two  the 
first  hearing  should  be  given.  The  age  and  aristocratical  dignity  of 
the  Laird,  on  the  one  side,  was  met,  on  no  unequal  terms,  by  the 
manly  beauty  and  transcendant  genius  of  the  Adjutant,  on  the  other. 
Odoherty,  indeed,  conceded  the  pas  (when  he  observed  the  Laird's 
anxiety)  with  his  accustomed  Cortesia  Castillana  ;  but  this  was  only 
a  change  of  difficulties,  for  nothing  could  now  prevail  on  that  illus- 
trious Tenant  in  capite  to  accept  of  the  proffered  precedence.  To 
put  a  stop  to  so  m±uch  altercation,  we  were  compelled  to  have 
recourse  once  more  to  our  old  expedient  of  skying  a  copper,  the 
result  of  which  terminated,  as  usual,  in  favor  of  the  Standard-bearer. 
That  personage  has  indeed  a  wonderful  degree  of  luck  in  such  mat- 
ters. Never  was  such  an  exemplification  of  the  truth  of  that  old  text, 
FoRTUNA  FA  VET  FORTiBUS.  He  made  use  of  the  silence  with  which 
we  now  surrounded  him,  by  reading,  in  his  usual  fine  high  Tipperary 
key,  a  short  continuation  of  that  excellent  series  of  his,  the  Boxiana.* 
The  face  of  Kempferhausen,  during  this  sporting  article,  was  most 
excellent.  The  practice  of  pugilism  was  evidently  a  mystery  which 
his  fine  speculative  understanding  could  not  penetrate,  and  though 
few  men  have  more  enthusiasm. than  our  good  friend  Phillip,  he  could 
not  go  along  with  the  profound  disquisition  and  impassioned  feeling 
of  the  Adjutant  on  such  a  theme.  He  contented  himself,  however, 
with  a  short  quotation  out  of  Emmanuel  Kant,f  who  had,  it  would 

*  The  No.  read  referred  to  the  boxing  match  between  Broughton  and  Slack,  in  1759,  which 
ended  in  the  triumph  of  the  latter ;  who,  after  being  Champion  for  ten  years,  was  beaten  by  a 
worthy  rejoicing  in  the  appellation  of  Bill  Stevens,  the  Nailor. — M. 

t  Mr.  Coleridge  has  somewhere  expressed  himself  to  this  effect — That,  if  Plato  were  to  rise 
again  from  the  grave  and  appear  in  London,  any  performer  of  chemical  tricks  would  be  looked 
on  as  much  the  greater  man  ;  and  further,  that  with  respect  to  any  discovery,  he  would  have 
more  credit  for  it  who  should  make  it  a  posteriori^  (accidentally  perhaps,  or  by  benefit  of  a  fine 
apparatus) — than  he  who  should  demonstrate  its  necessity  a  priori,  (i.  e.  should  deduce  it  from 
the  law  which  involved  it).  This  remark  is  well  illustrated  in  the  following  case  :  Twenty- 
six  years  at  least  before  Dr.  Herschel  discovered  the  planet  which  bears  his  name  (otherwise 
called  the  planet  Uranus,  and  in  England  the  Georgian  planet),  it  had  been  predicted — or,  to 
speak  more  truly,  it  had  been  demonstrated — by  Kant,  that  a  planet  would  be  found  in  that 
region  of  the  heavens  (i.  e.  a  planet  superior  to  Saturn).  The  diff"erence  between  the  discov- 
eries is  this  :  Herschel's  was  made  empirically,  or  a  posteriori,  by  means  of  a  fine  telescope  ; 
Kant's  scientifically,  or  a  priori,  as  a  deduction  from  certain  laws  which  he  had  established  in 
his  Celestial  System  (HimmeVs  System).  We  have  unfortunately  not  brought  with  us  to 
Hraemar  the  volume  which  contains  Kant's  HimineVs  System  ;  but  we  will  state  from  memory 
the  course  of  reasoning  which  led  Kant  to  this  prediction.  What  is  a  comet?  It  is  a  planet 
whose  orbit  is  exceedingly  eccentric.  Are  then  the  planets  not  eccentric?  Yes,  but  much  less 
so.  How  much  less  ?  Some  in  one  degree — some  in  another  :  their  eccentricity  varies  Ac- 
cording to  what  laws  ;  or  does  it  vary  according  to  any  law  ?  In  general  according  to  this  law  : 
the  eccentricity  has  a  tendency  to  increase,  as  the  distance  from  the  sun  increases ;  that  is  to 
say,  the  planets  become  more  eccentric  in  their  orbits,  i.  e.  raovecotnetary — as  they  approach  to 
that  region  of  the  heavens  from  which  the  comets  descend.  Now  from  this  gradual  tendency 
of  the  planetary  motions  to  become  cometary  (which  tendency,  by  the  way,  is  itself  a  neces- 
sary consequence  from  Kant's  system,  and  no  accident),  Kant  suspected,  that  as  nature  does 
not  ordinarily  proceed  psr  saltum.  the  system  of  planets  must  pass  grndntim  into  the  sy.stera 
of  comets — and  not  so  abruptly  as  it  would  do  if  Saturn  were  the  last  planet.  Therefore,  said 
he,  at  some  future  period,  there  will  be  found  at  least  one  planet  superior  to  Saturn — whose 
orbit  will  be  much  more  eccentric  than  that  of  Saturn,  and  will  thus  supply  a  link  to  connect 
the  motions  of  the  planets  and  the  coniets  into  a  more  continuous  chain.  The  comets  will 
perhaps  vary  as  much  in  eccentricity  as  the  planets,  and  according  to  the  samo  law  :  so  that 


62  CHEISTOPHEE   IN   THE   TENT.  "  [Sept. 

appear,  considered  pugilism  as  one  of  those  anomalies  in  the  history 
of  the  human  mind,  inexplicable  by  the  transcendental  philosophy, — 
and  with  hinting,  that  Randal  the  Nonpareil  could  have  found  no  favor 
in  the  eyes  of  the  sage  of  Koningsberg.  Odoherty  avowed  his  utter 
ignorance  of  all  Cant,  but  was  willing  to  pin  his  faith  on  the  sleeve 
of  Plato,  who,  it  was  well  known,  was  in  his  day  a  fighting  man  of 
great  skill,  pluck,  and  bottom;  and  who,  though  desirous  of  exclud- 
ing poetry  from  his  republic,  recommended  an  enlightened  patronage 
of  pugilism.  At  the  same  time,  he  was  very  far  from  thinking,  with 
his  quondam  friend,  Bill  Parnell,  knight  of  the  shire  for  Wicklow 
(whom  he  now  indignantly  disowned),  that  the  Irish  people,  owing  to 
their  ignorance  of  pugilism,  "  were  base^  cowardly,  and  savage.''''^ 
The  man  who  could  utter  such  a  sentiment  is  unworthy  of  his  pota- 
toes. "  His  soul,^^  said  the  Adjutant,  with  much  animation,  "  has  not 
the  true  Irish  accent — it  wants  the  brogue  of  his  country.  I  agree 
with  my  friend,  Lord  Norbury,!  in  thinking  '  we  are  a  fine  people  ;' 
and  if  I  heard  Bill  Parnell  with  his  own  lips  say,  that  '  it  is  only 
backed  by  a  mob  of  his  friends  that  ati  Irishman  loill  fight^  I  would 
not  tell  him,  Mr.  Editor,  to  remember  the  fine  lines  of  my  friend, 
Tom  Moore, 

When  Malachi  wore  the  collar  of  gold, 

That  he  won  from  the  fierce  invader — 

but  I  would  call  upon  him,  in  the  words  of  a  pardonable  parody,  to 
think, 

How  Donelly  wore  the  kerchief  of  blue, 
That  he  won  from  the  Deptford  gardener.;]: 

the  last  planet  and  first  comet  will  stand  pretty  much  in  the  same  relation  to  each  other  as  any 

planet  to  the  next  superior  planet — or  as  any  comet  to  the  next  more  eccentric  comet. 

This  was  said  in  the  year  1754  at  the  latest.  With  respect  to  the  date  of  Herschel's  discovery, 
having  no  Astronomy  in  our  Tent  later  than  that  of  David  Gregory,  the  Savilian  Professor, 
(Astron.  Phys.  et  Geomet.  Elementa  :  Genevse,  1726.)  we  cannot  assign  it  precisely;  but 
according  to  oilr  recollection,  it  was  made  in  1781 ;  and  certainly  not  earlier  than  1780.  Kant 
then  discovered  the  planet  Uranus  a  priori,  (that  is,  he  discovered  the  necessity  of  such  a 
planet  as  a  consequence  of  a  law  previously  detected  by  his  own  sagacity  at  least  six-and- 
twenty  years  before  Herschel  made  the  same  discovery  a  posteriori  by — the  excellence  of  his 

telescope. N.  B.    The  reader  will  perhaps  object  the  case  of  Mercury  and  of  Mars — the  first 

as  contradicting  the  supposed  law,  the  second  as  imperfectly  obeying  it  (his  eccentricity  being 
indeed  less  than  that  of  the  next  superior  planet,  but  yet  greater  than  according  to  his  distance 
from  the  sun);  these  exceptions,  however,  confirm,  the  system  of  Kant — being  explained  out 
of  the  same  law  which  accounts  for  the  "defect  in  bulk  of  these  two  planets.  It  might  have 
been  supposed  that  Sir  Isaac  Newton  would  have  been  led  to  the  same  anticipation  as  that 
here  ascribed  to  Kant,  by  the  very  terms  in  which  he  defines  comets,  viz.  '•  genus  planetaram 
in  orbibus  valde  eccentricis  circa  solem  revolventibus  "  (Princip.  lib  3.  Prop.  41)  :  but  he  was 
manifestly  led  away  from  any  such  anticipation  by  the  same  reasoning  which  induced  him  to 
conclude  that  no  tenable  theory  could  be  devised  which  should  assign  a  mechanical  origin  to 
the  heavenly  system.  Kant  has  framed  such  a  theory,  which  we  shall  lay  before  our  readers 
in  a  month  or  two. — G.  N. 

*  Maurice  and  Berghetta,  or  the  Priest  of  Rahery ;  a  tale  London.  1819.  [Written  by 
Parnell.— M.] 

t  The  Earl  of  Norbury,  commonly  called  the  The  Hanging  Judge,  who  jested  with  crimi- 
nals, on  whom  he  was  pronouncing  sentence  of  death.  He  was  Chief  Justice  of  the  Common 
Pleas  in  Ireland,  from  1800  to  18ii7,  and  died  in  1831.— In  "  Sheil's  Sketches  of  the  Irish  Bar" 
his  career,  character,  and  appearance  are  very  fully  described. — M. 

*  An  allusion  to  the  great*  fight  between  Sir  Dan  and  Oliver. — C.  N.     [Daniel  Donelly,  an 


1819.] 


THE  shilelah!  53 


"  What,  sir !  would  any  Irishman  who  ever  sung  '  the  sprig  of 
shilelah  and  shamrock  so  green,'  accuse  his  countrymen  of  cowardice'? 
Let  me  not  be  misunderstood.  I  conceive  that  a  duet  in  a  ring  at 
Moulsy-Hurst  is  pleasanter  music  than  a  general  chorus  at  Donny- 
brook  fair.  But  that  is  a  cultivated,  a  scientific  taste ;  and  let  no  man 
rashly  assert,  that  the  genius  and  intellect,  and  moral  worth  of  a 
people,  may  not  exhibit  themselves  as  strikingly  in  the  shilelah  as  in 
the  fist,  in  a  general  row,  as  in  a  limited  set-to.  Is  it  the  part  of 
a  coward,  Mr.  Editor,  for  one  of-  the  Tipperary  lads  to  step  forward 
and  ask  the  Kerry  lads,  '  who  will  snaze  .^'  and  if  Roderic  Milesius 
M'Gillicuddy  replies,  '  /  am  the  boy  to  snaze  in  your  face^  is  my 
cousin  a  coward  because  the  Tipperary  shilelahs  come  twinkling 
about  his  nob  as  thick  as  grass  *?*  By  the  staff  of  St.  Patrick,  a 
coward  has  no  business  there  at  all ;  and  what  though  Mr.  M'Gilli- 
cuddy he  hacked  by  a  mob  of  friends^  as  the  county  says,  has  not 
O'Donnahue  his  friends  too  %  and  where  then  is  the  cowardice  of 
knocking  down  every  Pat  you  can  lay  your  twig  upon,  till  you  your- 
self go  the  way  of  all  flesh  %  and  if  '  twenty  men  should  basely  fall 
upon  one,'  why,  to  be  sure,  their  turn  will  come  next,  and  all  odds 
will  be  even. 

At  the  close  of  the  day,  when  the  pot-house  is  full, 
And  mortals  the  sweets  of  forgetfulness  prove, 
When  nought  in  the  tap-room  is  heard  but  a  bull, 
And  '  arrah,  be  easy  1'  comes  soft  from  the  grove. 

"  No,  Mr.  Editor,  never  may  Morgan  Odoherty  live  to  see  that 
day  when  the  shilelah  shall  no  longer  flourish  and  be  flourished  in  the 
Green  Isle."  Here  Mr.  Tims  softly  interposed,  and  after  compli- 
menting the  Standard-bearer  on  that  liberal  philosophy,  which 
discerns  and  knows  how  to  appreciate  the  genius  of  a  people  in  their 
pastimes,  without  any  invidious  preference  of  one  or  another,  volun- 
teered (if  agreeable  to  the  Editor  and  the  Contributors)  a  song, 
entitled,  "  Ye  Pugilists  of  England,"  which  he  understood  was  written 

Irishman,  who  beat  Oliver,  an  English  pugilist,  in  a  prize  fight,  returned  to  Ireland,  declaring 
that  the  Prince  Regent  had  knighted  him  for  his  prowess,  opened  a  public  house  in  Dublin, 
was  one  of  his  own  most  bibacious  customers,  and  died  soon  after  this  from  inflammation, 
caused  by  drink. — M.] 

*  This  is  a  sweet  pastoral  image,  which  we  ourselves  once  heard  employed  by  a  very  delicate- 
looking  and  modest  young  woman,  in  a  cottage  near  Limerick,  when  speaking  of  the  cudgels 
of  an  affray.  A  broken  head,  is  in  Ireland,  always  spoken  of  in  terms  of  endearment,  and 
much  of  the  same  tender  feeling  is  naturally  transferred  to  the  shilelah  that  inflicted  it. 
"  God  bless  your  honor,"  said  the  same  gentle  creature  to  us,  while  casting  a  look  of  affection- 
ate admiration  on  our  walking-stick  (at  that  time  we  had  no  rheumatism),'  "  you  would  give 
a  swate  blow  with,  it."  It  is  in  such  expressions  that  we  may  trace  the  genius  of  a  people,  and 
they  should  serve  to  moderate  that  indignation  with  which  moralists  are  wont  to  speak  of  the 
"  brutality'^  of  Irish  quarrels.  In  the  account  of  the  battle  between  Randal,  and  Martin  the 
baker,  we  observed  with  pleasure,  an  imitation  of  this  Hibernian  amenity.  After  stating  that 
Randal  finished  the  fight  by  a  knock-down  facer,  the  historian  (probably  our  good  friend  Mr. 
Eagan),  very  prettily  remarked,  "  Randal  is  like  a  bird  on  the  boughs  of  a  tree?''  A  fine 
sylvan  image  ! — C.  N.  Pearce  Eagan,  at  this  period,  editor  of  the  sporting  paper  called  BelVs 
Life  in  London,  and  author  of  several  works  on  pugilism  and  its  history. — M. 


64  CHKISTOPHER  IN  THE  TENT.  [Sept. 

either  by  Mr.  Gregson,  Mr.  Egan,  or  Mr.  Thomas  Campbell.  This 
handsome  offer  was  received  with  thunders  of  applause,  and  nothing 
could  be  grander  than  the  trio.  We  remarked,  that  during  the  ode 
there  was  not  an  unclenched  fist  in  the  whole  Tent. 


YE    PUGILISTS    OF    ENGLAND. 

As  Sung  hy  Messrs.  Price,  Tims,  and   Woods  {Son  of  the  Fighting   Waterman), 
on  the  4:th  of  September  1819,  near  the  Linn  of  Dee. 

1. 

Ye  Pugilists  of  England,* 

Who  guard  your  native  sod, 
*        Whose  pluck  has  braved  a  thousand  years, 

Cross-buttock,  blow,  and  blood. 
Your  corky  canvas  sport  again. 

To  mill  another  foe, 
As  you  spring,  round  the  ring, 

While  the  betters  noisy  grow ; 
While  the  banging  rages  loud  and  long, 

And  the  betters  noisy  grow. 

2. 

A  Briton  needs  no  poniards 

No  bravos  'long  his  street — 
His  trust  is  in  a  strong-roped  ring, 

A  square  of  twenty  feet. 
With  one-twos  from  his  horny  fists, 

He  floors  the  coves  below, 
As  they  crash,  on  the  grass. 

When  the  betters  noisy  grow ; 
When  the  banging  rages  loud  and  long, 

And  the  betters  noisy  grow. 

3. 
The  spirits  of  prime  pugilists 

Shall  rise  at  every  round ; 
For  the  ring  it  was  their  field  of  fame, 

To  them  'tis  holy-ground. 
Where  Slack  and  mighty  Belcher  fell, 
■  Your  manly  hearts  shall  glow. 

As  you  peel,  true  as  steel. 

While  the  betters  noisy  grow  ; 
While  the  banging  rages  loud  and  long, 

And  the  betters  noisy  grow. 

4. 
The  Randal-rag  of  England 

Must  yet  terrific  burn. 
Till  Ireland's  troublesome  knight  be  beat, 

And  the  star  of  Crib  return  ! 

•  Vide  Campbell's  "Ye  Gentlemen  of  England."— M. 


1819."!  CAEMEN    DIABOLICUM.  55 

Then,  then,  y^Iutton-pugilists, 

The  claret  red  shall  flow, 
To  the  fame,  of  your  name, 

When  the  noise  of  betts  is  low ; 
When  Sir  Dan  lies  levelled  loud  and  long, 

And  the  noise  of  betts  is  low. 

Mr.  Price,  whose  voice  reminded  us  of  Incledon  in  his  best  days, 
took  the  tenor  ;  Mr,  Tims'  sweet  and  shrill  pipe  was  a  most  exquisite 
counter-tenor ;  and,  with  the  sole  exception  of  Bartleman,  we  never 
heard  any  thing  at  all  comparable  to  the  bass  of  young  Woods.* 
The  accompaniment,  too,  was  exceedingly  fine.  Wastle  blew  his 
bugle  affletuoso  ;  Tickler,  who  fingers  with  any  man  in  England, 
though  we  confess  that  his  bow-hand  is  not  so  free,  flowing,  and 
unfettered,  as  that  of  Yaniewicz,  was  powerful  on  his  fiddle ;  and 
John  .of  Sky,  on  the  bagpipe,  at  one  moment,  roused  the  soul  to  all 
the  triumph  of  victory,  and  at  another  sunk  it  into  the  despondency 
of  defeat.  At  that  line,  in  particular,  which  the  three  voices  dwelt 
upon  with  mournful  emphasis, — 

"  When  Sir  Dan  lies  levelled  loud  and  long," — 

we  observed  the  tear  start  into  Odoherty's  eyes,  and  he  veiled  them 
with  his  foraging-cap,  as  if  wishing  to  seal  his  sight  from  the  vision 
of  the  conquest  of  Crib  and  the  downfall  of  Donelly. 

We  were  apprehensive  at  one  time,  that  the  Standard-bearer  and 
Mr.  Tims  would  have  quarrelled ;  but  on  the  latter  assuring  Odoherty 
that  he  yielded  to  no  man  in  his  admiration  of  the  pluck  and  prowess 
of  Sir  Daniel  Donelly,  and  that  he  could  not  be  supposed  answerable 
for  the  prophetic  intimations  of  the  poet,  the  Adjutant  extended  his 
hand  towards  him  with  his  accustomed  suavity,  and  by  that  pacific 
overture  quieted  the  incipient  alarm  of  the  Cockney.  He  at  the 
same  time  offered  to  back  Sir  Dan  against  all  Britain,  Crib  not 
excepted,  for  a  cool  hundred — and  against  Jack  Carter,  £100  to  £80. 
The  best  Irish  pugilists,  continued  the  Adjutant,  "  have  been  Corco- 
ran, Ryan,  Odonnel,  Doherty,  (filius  carnalis,  we  believe,  of  Morgan's 
half-uncle.  Father  Doherty,  an  Irish  priest,  who  dropt  the  0  for  rea- 
sons best  known  to  himself,)  and  Donelly" — but  here  we  felt  it 
absolutely  necessary  to  interfere,  and  to  request  Mr.  Wastle  to  read 
his  article,  by  way.  of  diverting  our  thoughts  into  a  different  channel. 
The  Laird  observed,  that  he  did  not  feel  as  if  his  "  Essay  on  the 
Study  of  Physical  Science"  would  sound  well  after  the  Boxiana,  and 
therefore  would,  for  the  present,  content  himself  with  reading  a  very 
short  paper,  on  the  Scottish  Proverbs  of  Allan  Ramsay. 

*  This  entertaining  and  accomplished  young  fellow  is  Mr.  Tims'  body  servant.  He  is  a 
natural  son  of  ,the  brave  Woods,  who  fought  Richmond,  the  Black,  but  he  is  a  far  Isetter  man 
thati  his  father;  and  though  he  has,  we  believe,  never  exhibited  publicly  in  the  ring,  his 
private  turn-ups  have  been  numerous,  and  he  has  still  been  the  winner,  without  a  scratch. 
He  is  the  only  man  in  England  a  match  for  Randal.  Will  the  sporting  Colonel  back  the 
Nonpareil  for  £200  ?— C.  N. 


56  CHRTRTOPHEK   IN   THE   TENT.  [Sept, 

Just  as  Mr.  Wastle  was  concluding  Jiis  acute  little  article,  John 
Mackay,  whom  we  had  dispatched  for  Braemar  to  meet  the  walking 
postman,  returned  with  a  packet  of  letters — and  for  half  an  hour  the 
Contributors  were  busily  employed  with  their  contents — all  except 
Odoherty,  who  with  perfect  sangfroid  suffered  his  three  to  lie  un- 
opened on  the  table,  or  every  now  and  then  gave  them,  one  after 
another,  a  chuck  into  the  air  with  singular  dexterity,  that  showed  him 
to  be  a  perfect  adept  in  legerdemain  and  slight  of  hand.  On  asking 
our  friends  if  any  of  their  communications  were  articles  for  the  Mag- 
azine, the  Adjutant  replied,  that  as  far  as  his  letters  were  concerned 
it  was  for  ourselves  to  judge — one  being  a  dun  from  Scaife  and  Wil- 
lis*— another,  a  short  account,  he  believed,  from  the  keeper  of  a  bil- 
liard-table— and  the  third,  he  had  some  reason  to  think,  was  a  bill  for 
£25  on  the  Commercial  Bank,  which  he  had  sent  to  a  friend  to  whom 
he  was  indebted  for  that  sum,  but  which,  he  dared  to  say,  was  now 
returned  to  him  with  the  well-known  words  "  no  effects."  All  this 
w^as  said  with  that  gay  and  careless  manner  that  marks  the  true  man 
of  the  world,  and  the  Standard-bearer  remarked  with  a  smile,  that 
Messrs.  Scaife  and  Willis,  though  the  best  natured  and  most  skilful  tail- 
ors in  being,  ought  not  to  send  accounts  to  gentlemen  whose  breeches 
they  had  made  without  pockets  capable  of  holding  them,  and  that 
therefore  he  was  under  the  necessity  of  employing  their  well-inten- 
tioned letter  in  lighting  his  pipe.  Mordecai  Mullion  then  handed 
over  to  us  the  following  letter  from  his  brother  Hugh,  and,  with  his 
permission,  we  read  it  aloud. 

My  Dear  Mordecai  : — I  found  all  our  concerns  in  a  much  better 
way  at  Glasgow  than  we  could  have  expected  after  the  late  crash ; 
and  I  verily  believe,  that  our  good  friend  the  Skipper  will  yet  beat 
to  windward  of  the  Gazette.  Folks  don't  look  the  least  shy  at  our 
bills,  and  our  credit  is  good.  The  Skipper  requested  me  not  to  press 
him  hard,  which  God  knows  never  was  our  intention  ;  and  he  will 
send  us  six  barrels  of  the  best  Bunawe  salmon,  a  hogshead  of  Jamai- 
ca, 500  lbs.  of  double  Gloucester,  a  choice  assortment  of  best  West- 
phalias,  and  a  ton  of  dried  ling  :  he  lets  us  have  them  all  very  low ; 
and  when  I  have  seen  them  stowed  away  in  our  cellars,  I  shall  feel 
easy  about  the  Skipper.  M'Corquindale  and  M'Clure  offered  to 
settle  our  account  at  once  in  cod  and  craw-fish  ;  but  as  we  suffered 
much  from  our  cods  last  year,  and  craw-fish  is  a  drug,  I  demanded 
Loch-fine  herring,  and  kiplings,  and  got  what  I  believe  will  cover  us. 
I  had  most  difficulty  of  all  with  that  wasp  M'Huffie,  and  had  to 
threaten  a  horning. f  My  gentleman  came  to  himself  when  he  found 
me  serious ;  and  1  saw  his  reindeers  boxed  before  I  left  the  Gallow- 

•  Architects  of  male  attire,  in  Edinburgh. — M. 
t  Horning.— execution,  sale  under  the  law.— M. 


1819.]  THE   KIKK    O'    SH0TT8.  57 

gate ;  and  finer  tongues  never  pressed  a  palate.  Poor  Donald 
M'Tavish  is  on  his  last  legs,  but  I  took  his  debt  in  branxy,  and  have 
no  doubt  of  inflicting  it  to  advantage  on  our  brethren  of  the  Dilet- 
tanti. That  sumph,  Rab  Roger,  offered  me  a  bill  on  Cornelius 
Giffen  ;  I  preferred  taking  him  in  good  Mearns  butter  ;  and  he  sent 
me  ten  croaks  of  thirty  lbs.  each,  as  yellow  as  a  dandelion.  In  short, 
our  books  will  balance,  which  is  more  than  some  of  our  acquaintances 
both  here  and  in  the  west  can  say,  who  hold  their  heads  higher  than 
the  Mullions. — So  much  for  business.  And  now,  my  dear  Mordecai, 
let  me  give  you  an  account  of  a  sort  of  adventure  in  which  I  was  en- 
gaged on  my  way  back  from  Glasgow.  I  fear  it  will  lose  much  in  the 
recital — as  I  have  not  the  pen  of  a  Tickler  or  an  Odoherty  ;  yet  as 
you  requested  me  to  give  you  the  news,  I  will  try  to  describe  the 
scene  just  as  I  saw  it  acted. 

I  was  jogging  along  on  our  "  bit  powney,"  with  my  honest  father's 
wallise  behind  me  as  usual,  when  just  where  the  former  road  takes  up 
the  hill  to  the  auld  Kirk  o'  Shotts,*  I  met  a  most  extraordinary  Ca- 
valcade, which  reminded  me  of  Stothard's  Picture  of  the  "  Procession 
of  Pilgrims  to  Canterbury,"  so  well  engraved  by  our  poor  friend 
Cromek  et  multis  aiiis.  I  really  felt  as  if  I  had  slid  back  many  cen- 
turies, and  were  coeval  with  Gower  and  Chaucer.  My  surprise  was 
not  diminished,  when  the  leading  pilgrim  gravely  accosted  me  with, 
"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Hugh  Mullion'?  When  did  you  hear  from 
your  brother  Mordecai  f  I  pulled  up  old  Runciman,  and  took  a 
leisurely  and  scrutinizing  observation  of  the  pilgrimage.  Before  I 
had  time  to  open  my  mouth,  or  rather  to  shut  it  again,  for  I  believe  it 
was  open — the  leading  pilgrim  continued,  "  I  am  the  Editor  of  Con- 
stable and  Company's  Magazine,  and  these  are  my  Contributors.! 
We  are  going  to  pitch  our  Tent  near  the  Kirk  o'  Shotts,  for  you 
must  not  think,  Mr.  Hugh,  that  we  are  not  allowed  a  vacance  as  well 
as  Ebony's  people.  If  you  are  not  obliged  to  be  in  Edinburgh  to- 
night, will  you  join  us? — I  dare  say  we  shall  find  you  useful."  I 
declare  to  you,  my  dear  Mordecai,  that  the  very  thought  of  this  pro- 
cession so  convulses  me  with  laughter,  even  at  this  hour,  that  I  can 
write  no  better  a  hand  than  a  member  of  parliament.  For,  only 
imagine,  the  good  worthy  editor,  in  halfclerical,  half-lay  attire — 
namely,  black  breeches,  and  D.  D.  boots,  black  silk  waistcoat,  pep- 

*  Between  the  cities  of  Edinburgh  and  Glasgow,  about  within  sixteen  miles  of  the  latter 
place  (travelling  by  the  mail-road,  before  railways  were  constructed),  the  country  rises  up  very 
high.  On  the  summit  of  the  most  dreary  ridge  stands  what  is  called  the  Kirk  of  Shotts  (whence 
the  ndoe  is  named),  and  the  little  dove-cot  belfry  rises  with  peculiar  expressiveness,  amidst  a 
land  of  so  little  promise.  Descending  the  hill,  with  elimpses  of  the  rich,  well-wooded,  and 
well-watered  valley  of  the  Clyde,  the  road  leads  into  Glasgow,  at  once,  from  its  commerce  and 
manufactures,  the  Liverpool  and  Manchestsr  of  the  West.— M. 

t  Blackwood's  Magazine  may  be  said  to  have  fairly  laughed  Constable's  rival  Magazine  out 
of  existence.  Neither  publisher,  editor,  nor  contributors  could  stand  the  sarcasms  perpetually 
levelled  at  each  and  all,  from  the  memorable  time  when  the  Chaldee  Manuscript  attacked 
them  personally. — M. 

3* 


58  CHEISTOPHEK   IN   THE  TENT.  [Sept. 

per  and  salt  coat,  and  shovel  hat  most  admirably  constructed  for  scoop- 
ing a  draught  out  of  a  well,  mounted  on  a  remarkably  fine  jackass, 
who,  on  being  brought  to  a  stand-still,  let  down  his  immense  head  be- 
tween his  fore  legs,  like  the  piston  of  a  steam-engine,  and  then  show- 
ing his  alligator-like  jaws,  gave  a  yawn  in  which  was  gaunted*  out  a 
whole  month's  sleeplessness.  It  requires  a  very  peculiar  kind  of  a 
seat,  to  look  well  on  ass-back ;  long  stirrups,  and  legs  nearly  if  not 
altogether  meeting  below ;  whereas  the  Editor  sat  too  far  forward 
upon  the  shoulder,  like  Don  Olivarez,  the  Spanish  minister,  in  that 
famous  picture  of  Velasquez,  in  our  last  exhibition.  Immediately 
behind  him  came  our  excellent  friend,  the  old  German  doctor,  in  a 
full  suit  of  sables,  with  spurs  on  his  pumps,  according  to  the  ancient 
physical  school ;  and  elevated  many  feet  above  the  editor,  on  that 
well-known  hack  the  Paviour,  for  many  years  the  property  of  Mr. 
Campbell,  Stabler  and  Vintner,  Canongate.  The  doctor  perspired 
extremely,  and  had  a  Monteith  handkerchief  hanging  over  his  brows 
from  beneath  his  hat,  which  caused  him  to  elevate  his  chin  conside- 
rably before  he  could  bring  his  ogles  to  bear  on  any  inferior  object. 
As  he  pulled  up,  a  swarm  of  flies  went  off  with  a  loud  fuz  from  his 
veil,  and  then  all  settled  again  upon  it,  as  if  the  queen-bummer  had 
been  inclosed  in  a  crany  of  the  Monteith.  I  never  saw  an  elderly 
gentleman  seemingly  more  uncomfortable ;  and  he  could  only  ex- 
claim, '  Any  thing's  better  than  this ;  I  wish  I  were  in  the  Hartz 
forest.'  Scarcely  could  I  believe  mine  eyes,  when  they  seemed  to 
behold  riding  together  cheek  by  jowl,  and  as  like  as  twins,  no  less 
personages  than  the  Editor  of  the  Edinburgh  Review,  and  '  John 
the  brother  of  Francis."  The  former  marked  my  astonishment  on 
perceiving  him  in  such  company  ;  and  to  divert  my  ideas,  exclaimed, 
with  his  usual  vivacity,  (there  is  certainly  something  very  pleasant 
in  Jeffrey's  smile.)  "Ha!  Mullion,  my  good  fellow!  these  were 
very  tasty  hams  you  sent  us  out  to  Craigcrook ;  as  my  friend  Na- 
pier would  say,  I  made  an  essay  on  the  scope  and  tendency  of  Bacon  : 
nothing  like  repeated  experiments — induction  is  the  most  satisfactory 
of  all  modes  of  reasoning.  I  am  surprised  the  ancients  never  stum- 
bled upon  it ;  though,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  believe  it  to  be  as  old 
as  the  days  of  Ham."  All  this  time  a  very  peculiar  expression 
played  round  the  greater  Jeffrey's  lips,  which  it  would  not  be  fair  to 
call  -wicked;  but  which  certainly  had  in  it  a  good  deal  of  malice  of  a 
small  playful  kind.  As  he  glanced  his  hawk  eyes  towards  the  Edi- 
tor, whose  back  was  turned,  because  his  ass  insisted  it  should  be  so, 
he  said,  in  an  affectionate  tone  of  voice,  "  En  avant,  en  avant,  my 
dear  coz  :  I  hear  the  wheels  of  the  mail-coacb,  give  little  sturdy  a 

*  See  Dr.  Jamieson  once  more.     There  is  really  no  doing  -without  the  Doctors  Dictionary  ; 
but  let  no  wan,  on  any  account  whatever,  buy  the  Abridgment. — C.  N. 


1819.]  THE    SCOTSMAN.  69 

touch  of  Peter  Bell."  The  ass  seemed  instinctively  afraid  of  Mr. 
Jeffrey's  voice,  and  got  under  weigh, 

"  With  the  slow  motion  of  a  summer  cloud," 

followed  by  the  Paviour,  and  the  more  alert  nags  of  the  brother- 
reviewers,  which  they  had  obvious  difficulty  in  reining  in,  so  as  to 
prevent  them  from  passing  the  Editor. 

But  now  a  much  more  formidable  Contributor  presented  himself, 
in  the  person  of  that  perfect  gentleman,  the  Scotsman.*  He  was 
mounted  on  that  trying  animal,  a  mule,  which  had  planted  his  fore- 
feet considerably  in  advance,  strongly  backed  by  his  hind  ones, 
brought  up  as  a  corps  de  reserve  to  support  the  first  line,  so  that  he 
was  intrenched  in  a  very  strong  position,  from  which  the  cudgel  of 
the  infuriated  Scotsman  in  vain  banged  to  dislodge  him.  It  was  a  fair 
match  between  wrath  and  obstinacy ;  audit  was  impossible  to  say  which 
would  win  the  day.  There  were  moments  in  which  the  mule  seemed 
to  lose  heart,  under  the  murderous  blows  of  his  rider;  while  at  other 
times,  the  stubbornness  of  the  wretched  creature  he  so  inhumanly  be- 
strode so  irritated  the  Scotsman,  that  he  would  frequently  hit  his  own 
shins  with  his  own  cudgel,  and  then  betray  his  uneasiness  by  the  most 
dismal  gestures.  Beside  him  rode  that  thickset,  vulgar-looking  person, 
somewhat  like  a  Methodist  preacher,  agood  deal  marked  with  the  small- 
pox, and  well  known  among  the  town  coimcil  by  the  name  of  the 
Scotsman's  FlunkyI  (there  is  no  need  to  enrich  ye  with  his  name) 
who  told  him  "  to  remember  his  infirmity,  and  not  to  allow  his  pas- 
sion so  to  get  the  better  of  him  as  to  bring  on  one  of  his  fits."  1 
thought,  my  dear  Mordecai,  that  the  Scotsmori's  fits  had  always  come 
on  about  the  same  hour  on  the  Saturdays  only,  but  I  now  found  that 
they  are  not  so  regular  as  to  be  depended  upon,  and  that  he  is  often 
overtaken  quite  unexpectedly,  and  without  any  previous  intimation. 
The  fit  by  no  means  improved  his  natural  beauty  and  elegance — but 
caused  such  unaccountable  contortion,  both  of  face  and  person,  that 
the  Flunky  himself  seemed  alarmed — while  Dugald  Macalpine,  the 
Pimping  Caddy  of  the  Laigh  Kirk,  who  accompanied  the  procession, 
was  heard  to  exclaim,  "  Pure  fallow,  is  this  him  that  wishes  to  mend 
the  constitution  %  I'm  sure  nae  burrugh's  half  sae  rotten  as  his  ain 
breast.  Gude  saf  us,  hear  how  he's  flitting  on  the  Lord  Provost, 
wha's  worth  a  dizen  sic  like  Gallowa'  stots  as  himsel. — Hush,  hush — 
he's  now  cursan  on  Mr.  Blackwood. — Wha's  he  that  Dr.  MoztIs  he's 

*  J.  R.  M'CuUoch,  afterwards  Professor  of  Political  Economy  in  London  University,  and 
now  Comptroller  of  the  Government  Stationery  Office,  in  London,  was  editor  of  the  Scotsman 
newspaper,  in  1S19,  and  the  constant  object  of  Maga's  contempt.  He  contributed  largely  to 
the  Edinbxirgh  Review.  Although  his  salary  is  £1200  a  year,  a  Whig  government  was  so 
lavish  as  to  give  also  him  a  pension  of  £300,  and,  having  solicited  it,  he  was  so  sreedv  as  tc 
accept  it.— M. 

t  The  most  opprobrious  name,  in  Scotland,  for  a  body-menial. — C.  N. 


60  CHRISTOPHER   IN   THE   TENT.  [Sept, 

slavering  about '?  I  wush  him  and  sum  ither  Doctor  was  but  here 
to  gie  him  a  dose  of  Pheesic.  O,  sirs  !  luk  at  the  red  whites  o'  his 
e'en,  a'  rowan'  about  in  his  heed  !  Hech !  how  the  tae  tail  o'  his 
mouth  gangs  up  wi'  a  swurl  to  his  ee-bree !  What  a  lang  foul 
tongue's  hanging  out  o'  his  jaws !  Ach !  siccan  a  girn  !  I  doubt  he' el 
ne'er  cum  about  again.  It's  shurely  an  awfu'  judgment  on  him,  for 
swearin,  and  cursan,  and  damman  on  ither  folk. — Hech,  sers,  but 
he'll  mak  a  grusome  corp  !" 

My  attention  was  luckily  diverted  from  this  painful  spectacle  by 
one  of  the  most  ludicrous  exhibitions  you  can  imagine — and  one 
which  made  me  feel  the  genius  of  our  immortal  Shakspeare  (I  call 
him  ours,  Mordecai,  for,  after  our  President's  famous  speech  on  that 
great  day  before  the  Dilletanti,*  Shakspeare  belongs  exclusively  to 
our  society),  in  bringing  together  on  the  same  scene  the  extremes  of 
human  wretchedness,  and  human  absurdity.  For  I  looked,  and  lo  ! 
upon  a  white  horse  sat  Dr.  Searchf  and  the  Dominie !  I  knew  the 
horse  well,  Mordecai ! — a  fellow  of  most  rare  action — who  had  run 
through  many  a  summer's  heat  and  winter's  cold  in  the  Dunbar  dilly, 
but  who,  having  become  not  a  little  spavined  of  late,  has  degraded 
from  his  wonted  diligence,  though  still  it  would  appear  a  hack — 

"  And  he  now  carries  who  e'er- while  but  drew." 

Dr  Search  occupied  the  seat  nearest  the  mane — and  the  Dominie  sat 
with  a  grim  and  dissatisfied  face  on  the  haunches,  which,  being  very 
high,  may  be  likened  to  the  two-shilling  gallery  in  reference  to  the 
boxes.  He  held  desperately  with  one  hand  by  the  crupper,  while, 
with  the  other,  he  was  ever  and  anon  snatching  at  the  reins,  which  he 
could  not  bear  to  see  in  Dr.  Search's  hand,  who,  to  say  the  truth,  is 
not  so  good  a  horseman  as  Colonel  Quintin  by  360  degrees.  J;  The 
Doctor  had  a  spur,  I  observed,  on  his  near  heel,  which,  short  and 
blunt  as  it  was,  he  contrived,  by  repeated  kicks,  to  indent  into  the 
gushets  of  the  Dominie's  black  worsted  stockings  so  as  to  fetch  blood. 
The  poor  pedagogue  implored  ride  and  tie,  but  to  the  prayer  of  this 
equitable  petition,  such  is  the  charm  of  precedence,  his  ear  the  prac- 
titioner would  not  seriously  incline — and  the  patient  had  nothing  for 
it  but  to  submit  his  leg  to  the  search.  They  were  clothed,  "  first  and 
last,"  in  black  apparel,  but  the  Dunbar  hack,  who  is  the  oldest  horse 
that  ever  wore  white  hairs,  seemed  to  have  been  rubbed  over  with 

*  "  Our  President"  of  the  Dilettanti  Society  of  Edinburgh,  in  1819,  was  John  Wilson,— the 
Christopher  North  of  the  Noctes.— M. 

t  For  farther  particulars  of  this  learned  Theban,  see  a  pamphlet  lately  published  by  him,  in 
reply  to  the  aspersions  of  Dr.  Morris  on  the  University  of  Edinburgh.  By-the-by,  Ritson  the 
antiquary  was  exceedingly  wroth  with  Dr.  Percy  for  saying  "  See  MSS."  when  such  MSS.  were 
in  the  sole  possession  of  the  Bishop  of  Dromore  himself,  and  perhaps  our  readers,  on  attempting 
to  get  a  sight  of  this  erudite  writer,  may  feel  some  surprise  at  our  sending  on  them  a  wild-goose 
chase.     Nevertheless,  there  is  such  a  pamphlet. — C.  N. 

t  Colonel  Sir  George  Q.uintin  was  considered  to  be  the  best  cavalry  officer  in  the  British 
army  at  this  time.  His  daughter,  an  excellent  equestrian,  instructed  Q^ueen  Victoria  how  to 
"  witch  the  world  with  noble  horsemanship." — M. 


1819.]  "THE    BEVEJSf    YUUJNW    MEJS.  61 

some  depilatory  preparation,  and  so  freely  shed  "  his  longs  and  his 
shorts"  over  the  two  unfortunate  gentlemen,  most  unjustifiably  seated 
on  his  back,  that  they  were  both  in  a  very  hairy  condition,  and  the 
Dominie  indeed  was  absolutely  gray.  The  spectacle  was  not  lost  on 
two  small  boys,  who  were  enjoying  the  summer  vacation  of  the 
High  School  in  the  country,  one  of  whom,  like  a  little  Triton,  blew  a 
cow's  horn  in  honor  of  those  mounted  deities,  and  the  other  clapping 
an  immense  rush  fool's-cap  on  his  head,  spouted,  as  if  reciting  for  a 
school-medal,  that  fine  line  in  Gray's  Ode, 

"  Ruin  seize  thee,  ruthless  king," 

while  a  poor  old  laborer,  who  was  knapping  s^nes  on  the  road-side, 
kept  his  hammer  in  air,  aimed  towards  the  mark  at  his  toe,  and  seemed 
to  congratulate  himself  on  the  appearance  of  two  persons  evidently 
worse  off  than  himself,  and  in  a  more  hopeless  condition.  As  the 
"  Arcades  ambo"  ambled  by,  they  were  succeeded  by  a  knot  of  per- 
sons evidently  attached  to  the  procession,  whom  I  soon  perceived  to 
be  the  "  Seven  Young  Men"  of  the  Chaldee  MS.*  They  wore  a  sort 
of  uniform,  of  which  lean  and  shrivelled  nankeen  pantaloons  formed 
the  most  distinguishing  part.  These  pantaloons  had  been  so  fre- 
quently washed,  that  they  had  almost  shrunk  up  into  breeches,  and 
indeed,  I  discovered  them  to  be  pantaloons  chiefly  from  the  want  of 
buttons  below  the  knees.  The  seven  seemed  all  to  be  Knights  of  the 
Garter — some  of  them  sporting  red  worsted,  but  most  of  them  tape. 
The  Editor  had  obviously  distributed  to  each  young  man  a  pair  of 
unbleached  thread  stockings  for  the  festival,  and  eke  a  pair  of  new 
shoes,  in  which,  as  usual,  he  showed  more  genius  than  judgment,  for 
sorely  seemed  their  feet  to  be  blistered,  so  that  Seven  lamer  Young 
Men  did  not  be  seen  in  town  or  country  on  a  summer's  day. 
Neither  did  they  keep  the  step  properly,  but  were  perpetually 
treading  on  each  other's  kibes,  so  that  they  might  have  been  traced 
along  the  dry  dust  of  the  beaten  highway,  by  the  drops  of  blood  that 
kept  oozing  from  their  heels.  To  keep  up  their  courage,  they  were 
all  singing  pretty  much  after  the  fashion  of  a  Dutch  concert — and  I 
distinctly  heard  the  voice  of  one  of  them  quavering  a  sort  of  profane 
parody  on  a  well  known  English  glee, 

"  We  are  Seven  poor  Contributors, 
From  garret  just  set  free,"  &c., 

while,  unless  I  am  much  mistaken,  another  breathed  out,  in  still  more 
Elegiac  murmurs,  an  imitation  of  Wordsworth's  well-known  lyrical 
ballad,  "We  are  Seven,"  at  the  pathetic  close  of  which  I  could  not 
but  feel  very  much  affected — 

*  The  unfortunate  Seven   Young  Men,  were    unnamed  contributors  to  Constable's  rival 
Magazine,  and  commemorated  as  such,  in  the  Chaldee  Manuscript. —  M. 


62  CHKISTOPHEK  IN  THE   TENT.  [Sept. 

"  But  still  the  child  would  have  his  will, 
Nay,  master,  '  we  are  Seven,'  " 

But  I  now  recollected,  that  the  Editor  had  requested  me  to  join  the 
party ;  so,  as  Runciman  was  quite  fresh,  I  helped  up  several  of  the 
Seven  Young  Men  upon  his  back,  and  cautioning  the  foremost  and 
hlndermost  to  take  a  lesson  by  Dr.  Search  and  Dominie,  and  hold 
well  by  the  mane  and  crupper,  at  the  same  time  quieting  the  fears  of 
him  in  the  middle  by  reiterated  assurances  of  his  safety,  I  turned 
back  pretty  sharply  on  foot,  and  came  up  with  the  Editor  and  his 
advanced  guard,  just  as  they  had  fixed  upon  a  spot  for  their  encamp- 
ment. I  was  grievously  disappointed,  however,  on  missing  both  the 
Greater  and  lesser  Jeffrey,  who  had  gone  on,  as  I  was  told,  to  pay  a 
visit  at  Hamilton  Palace,  to  their  friend  Lord  Archibald* — and  who 
had,  good-naturedly,  lent  the  party  their  countenance  as  far  as  the 
Kirk  of  Shotts,  being  resolved  to  play  fair  by  the  Editor.  In  less 
than  half  an  hour  up  came  the  Seven  Young  Men,  who  all  in  one 
voice  returned  me  thanks  for  the  use  of  Runciman,  without  whom 
they  verily  believed  they  could  never  have  reached  the  camp.  Run- 
ciman looked  at  me  in  a  very  quisquis  sort  of  a  way,  as  much  as  to 
say,  "  I  think  nothing  of  the  wallise,  but  I  never  bargained  for  the 
Contributors."  There  was  some  difficulty  in  getting  them  all  off — 
but  by  dropping  down  one  at  a  time  behind,"  Runciman's  decks 
were  at  last  cleared,  and  he  instantly  testified  his  satisfaction,  by 
throwing  his  heels  up  in  the  air,  with  an  agility  scarcely  to  have  been 
expected  from  a  steed  of  his  standing  at  the  bar.  Shortly,  after,  the 
Scotsman  and  his  Flunky,  and  the  Pimping  Caddy,  arrived — the 
first  with  those  dull,  heavy,  leaden  eyes,  and  that  sallow,  cadaverous 
face,  so  fearful  in  one  just  recovered  from  the  epilepsy  of  passion. f 
The  Caddy  had  wished  to  have  carried  him  back  to  the  Infirmary; 
but  this  proposal  roused  every  feeling  in  the  Elunky's  soul,  who,  you 
will  remember,  made  a  most  eloquent  speech  last  year  about  foul 
bandages,  and  stained  sheets,  and  crowded  water-closets,  and  indeed 
raved  beyond  all  rational  Hope.  The  Scotsman  was,  therefore,  seated 
on  a  stone,  where  he  looked  like  one  of  those  master-pieces  of  ancient 
art — not  surely  the  Apollo  Belvidere,  nor  yet  the  Antinous — but 
some  solitary  Satyr,  exhausted  by  a  Morris-dance ;  and  the  Editor 
could  only  look  at  him  with  a  true  Christian  pity,  without  being  able 
to  administer  to  him  the  smallest  relief. 

*  Lord  Archibald  Hamilton,  brother  of  the  late  Duke  of  Hamilton,  whose  principal  mansion 
was  in  Lanarkshire,  in  which  the  Kirk  o'  Shotts  is  also  situated.  When  Queen  Caroline 
came  to  England,  a  few  months  after  this,  Lady  Anne  Hamilton  (the  Duke's  sister),  was  her 
principal — indeed  her  only  companion  of  rank.  The  family  were  then  very  liberal  in  politics, 
which  would  account  for  Jeffrey  and  his  brother  having  sufficient  intimacy  as  to  visit  at 
Hamilton  Palace.— M. 

t  The  Scotsman's  fits  are  certainly  of  the  nature  of  epilepsy,  a  disease  thus  defined  :  "  a  con- 
vulsive motion  of  the  whole  body,  or  some  of  its  parts,  with  a  loss  of  sense." — C.  N. 


1819.]  THE    STOt's   tent.  63 

I  now  found  that  the  Tent  had  been  sent  by  the  heavy  waggon,  and 
had  lain  all  night  on  the  road-side,  so  that  it  was  in  a  sad  rumpled 
condition.  An  attempt  was,  however,  made  to  put  it  into  some 
decent  kind  of  order ;  but  just  as  we  were  going  to  hoist  it,  a  sour 
Cameronian-looking  sort  of  a  farmer  came  up,  and  sternly  declared, 
that  the  Tent  should  not  be  pitched  there  to  "  fley  the  stirks,"  calling 
us,  at  the  same  time,  a  set  of  "  idle  stravaiging  fallows,"  and  threat- 
ening to  send  for  A  Constable,*  at  which  I  observed  the  Seven  Young 
Men  faintly  smiled.  We  accordingly  shifted  our  quarters  higher. up 
the  hill,  and  were  commencing  operations  a  second  time,  when  a  band 
of  shearers,  Irish  and  Highland,  were  attracted  by  curiosity  to  the 
Tent,  and  their  conversation  became  so  extremely  indecent,  that  no 
respectable  set  of  Contributors  could  stand  it ;  so  we  broke  ground 
again,  and  attempted  a  lodgment  close  to  the  Kirk  of  Shotts.  For 
some  time  we  were  greatly  annoyed  by  numbers  of  black  cattle,  who 
returned  wheeling  and  wheeling  around  us,  in  the  language  of  Milton, 

"  Shai'peDiDg  their  mooned  horns," 

probably  attracted  by  the  "  Galloway  Stot ;"  but  they  soon  grew 
weary  of  looking  at  us,  and'  finally  gave  up  the  Magazine. 

At  last  the  pole  was  hoisted,  and  the  canvas  displayed,  with  the 
words,  "Constable  and  Company's  Edinburgh  Magazine,"  in  large 
letters  above  the  door,  surmounted  by  the  whole  posse  and  esse  of 
Beasts,  f  It  was,  however,  soon  but  too  evident,  that  not  one  of  the 
party  knew  how  to  pitch  a  tent  of  the  description ;  and  there  was  no 
getting  the  pole  to  stand  perpendicular,  so  that  the  ropes  on  one  side 
were  a  great  deal  too  long,  and  on  the  other  by  much  too  short. 
There  was  no  deficiency  of  wooden  pegs,  but  they  were  blunt  and 
pointless,  and  could  make  no  impression  on  the  hard  ground  of  the 
hill  of  Shotts,  parched  and  baked  as  it  was  by  two  months'  drought. 
The  Dominie  exerted  himself  in  vain  with  his  great  maul,  but  he 
missed  the  mark  much  oftener  than  he  hit  it,  and  the  pegs  committed 
to  his  charge  seemed  the  bluntest  of  the  whole  set.  "  I  think  the 
tent  will  stand  now,"  said  the  Editor,  with  a  dubious  face  and  hesi- 
tating voice — and  the  Dominie  replied,  "  It  is  perfectly  glorious." 
Perfectly  glorious  !  thought  I — why  it  is  more  like  an  empty  haggis- 
bag  than  anything  else — and  as  the  old  Scotch  proverb  says,  "  an 
empty  bag  winna  stand."  The  German  doctor  put  his  back  to  the 
pole,  like  Sampson  carrying  the  gates  of  Gaza — but  as  he  had  shaved 
that  morning,  his  strength  had  departed  from  him,  and  he  was  like 
other  Contributors,  so  he  prudently  retired  from  the  championship. 

*  The  Seven  Young-  Men  would  smile  at  the  feeble  joke,  inasmuch  as  A.  Constable,  was 
proprietor  of  the  Magazine  to  which  they  supplied  contributions. — M. 

t  In  the  Chaldee  Manuscript,  the  two  editors  of  Constable's  Edinburgh.  Magazine,  were 
spoken  of  as  Beasts,  and  the  same  term  was  applied  to  the  contributors  who  assisted  them. — M. 


64  CHEISTOPHEE   IN    THE   TENT.  [Sept,. 

The  pole  creaked  ominously,  and  there  was  a  continued  starting  of 
wooden  pegs — but  we  sat  down  nevertheless  to  a  sort  of  lunch,  con- 
sisting of  kibbuck^'  bakes*  and  small  beer — with  a  small  allowance 
of  butter  to  each  Contributor,  which,  I  regret  to  say,  was  very  ran- 
cid, melted  down  into  a  sort  of  lamp-oil,  and  thicldy  interspersed 
with  flies.  There  was  in  a  hamper  a  large  store  of  eggs,  which  had 
been  previously  boiled — but  then  they  had  come  several  months 
before  from  the  Isle  of  Arran,  and  though  few  of  them  were  chick- 
enny,  all  of  them  were  a  great  deal  worse — some  black  as  ink,  and 
others  of  that  yellow  peculiar  to  the  pus  on  a  long-neglected  wound. 
"  I  never  smelt  anything  half  so  noxious,"  said  the  Flunky,  "  but  an 
ulcer  last  year  on  an  old  woman's  knee,  in  the  Infirmary,  which  had 

not  been  allowed  half  its  allowance  of  rag" ^but  here  the  Editor 

mildly  stopped  the  Flunky,  reminding  him,  that  the  yolk  of  the  Arran 
eggs  was  hard  enough  to  bear  of  itself,  without  any  unnecessary  ex- 
aggerations. Here  I  very  fortunately  went  to  the  door — for,  some 
how  or  other,  small  beer  never  quite  agrees  with  me — and  no  sooner 
had  I  got  ''^sub  dioi'^  than  down  came  Constable  anp  Company's 
Edinburgh  Magazine  about  the  ears  of  the  Contributors,  while  such 
a  noise  arose 

"  As  if  the  whole  inhabitation  perished," 

Soon  as  the  first  wild  din  ceased,  I  heard  the  small  plaintive  voice  of 
Dr.  Search  exclaiming,  as  if  he  had  been  under  the  University  of 
Edinburgh,  "  The  whole  edifice  is  in  ruins !"  The  Scotsman  was 
heard  growling  like  a  bear  with  a  sore  head — and  the  Dominie  cried 
aloud,  "  The  pole,  the  pole,"  though  certainly  the  last  man  in  the 
world  likely  to  reach  it.  By-and-by  the  Flunky  rose  up  with  a  load 
of  canvas  on  his  back,  like  a  week's  sheeting  of  the  Infirmary ;  and 
this  gave  the  Contributors  an  opportunity  of  escaping  from  their 
thraldom,  and  of  making  their  appearance  through  the  northwest 
passage.  The  Editor  and  senior  Doctor  were  dug  out  of  the  ruins 
with  small  symptoms  of  animation — but  the  Seven  Young  Men,  who 
had  lain  down  to  sleep,  escaped  with  a  few  inconsiderable  bruises. 
The  two  Caddies,  Pimping  Donald  and  Drunken  Dugald,  waxed  very 
wroth,  and  the  former  burst  out,  "  Tamn  her,  what  ca  ye  tins'?  The 
Scots  Magazeen  %  She's  na  worth  a  single  doit.  The  bits  o'  rapes 
that  should  baud  her  up,  are  a'  rotten — ae  pluff  o'  wun  '11  coup  her. 
We  maunna  expec'  her  to  staun  by  hersel' — faith,  hoist  her  up  as  you 
wull,  she'll  just  aye  play  cloit  again." 

It  was  now  obvious  to  all,  that  the  Editor  had  taken  too  high 
ground,  and  that  if  the  company's  Tent  was  to  be  pitched  at  all,  it 
must  be  in  a  situation  where  it  would  be  less  exposed  to  sudden 

*  See  Dr.  Jamieson. — C.  N. 


1819.]  THE  stot's  tent.  65 

flaws  of  wind.  It  was  accordingly  carried  by  the  Caddies,  Editor, 
and  the  Seven  Young  Men,  down  a  gentle  declivity,  with  slow  and 
cautious  steps,  till  at  last  they  reached  a  deep  hollow,  where  it  was 
pitched  with  considerable  ease,  the  soil  being  bare  of  all  vegetation, 
except  a  sort  of  whitish  moss,  and  so  soft  and  moist  that  the  pole 
slipt  in  at  once,  notwithstanding  the  awkward  interference  of  the 
Dominig,  who,  in  spite  of  the  Editor's  mild  remonstrances,  made 
much  needless  flustering,  and  kept  running  to  and  fro  like  a  wasp 
without  a  sting,  very  fierce  and  fudgy.  The  Magazine  was  not  visible 
from  almost  any  part  of  the  adjacent  country,  in  this  sheltered  hol- 
low— and  when  every  thing  was  properly  got  up,  a  glass  of  small 
beer  was  handed  round  to  each  Contributor;  but,  for  the  reason 
already  assigned,  I  civilly  begged  leave 

"  To  kiss  the  cup,  and  pass  it  to  the  rest." 

The  scene  now  became  a  good  deal  more  cheerful.  The  little 
Kirk  of  Shotts,  crowning  the  hill,  made  a  decent  appearance — here 
and  there  were  small  scanty  spots  of  oats  and  barley,  that  had,  how- 
ever, got  all  the  ripening  they  were  ever  to  have — and  small  insig- 
nificant cocks  of  rushy  hay  stood  pertly  enough  in  various  directions. 
Rather  unluckily  there  was  in  the  Tent  a  nest  of  humble  bees — of 
that  brown  irritable  sort  called  "  foggies" — which  were  far  from 
being  agreeable  contributors,  and  some  of  them  took  a  violent  antip- 
athy to  the  Dominie,  entangling  themselves  in  his  black  sleek  hair, 
and  thereby  sorely  aggravating  the  natural  irritability  of  his  temper. 
A  curlew  (Scottice  whawp)  uttered  its  wild  cry  from  a  neighboring 
marsh,  and  a  lapwing  (Scottice  pease-weep),  afraid  that  the  Edi- 
tor intended  to  rob  her  nest,  kept  wheeling  round  and  round  the 
tent,  and  then  trundled  herself  ofi*,  with  seemingly  broken  legs  and 
wings,  to  the  strong  temptation  of  Dr.  Search,  who,  getting  nettled, 
made  one  of  his  injudicious  sallies  from  the  Magazine  in  chase  of  her, 
but  came  down  on  his  breech  in  a  wet  marshy  spring,  with  a  squash 
that  was  heard  in  the  interior  of  the  Tent,  and  brought  out  the  Do- 
minie with  a  copy  of  Potter's  Translation  of  TEschylus  in  his  dexter 
hand,  to  know  what  had  resulted.  Dr.  Search  did  not  recover  his 
serenity  during  the  whole  afternoon,  but  kept 

"  Pacing  about  the  moors  continually," — 

with  his  hand  on  the  part  that  was  more  sinned  against  than  sinning 
^extending  the  wet  cloth  a  few  inches  from  the  skin,  and  with  a 
rueful  face  watching  the  progress  of  the  drying,  which,  from  the  low 
situation  of  the  place  affected,  and  of  the  Tent,  was  long  and  tedious. 
The  Contributors  were  begimiing  to  bite  their  nails  for  want  of 


G6  CHEISTOPHEE   IN"  THE  TENT.  [Sept 

something  to  do  or  think,  when  the  Fhmky,  who  had  gone  down  to 
the  high-road  to  see  the  mail-coach  pass  by.,  returned  with  a  parcel 
of  letters,  all  addressed  to  the  Editor,  which,  being  on  the  public 
business  of  Tent  or  Magazine,  were  read  aloud  by  him  in  an  agreea- 
ble, but  somewhat  mouthing  manner. 


Dear  Sir, — I  am  so  biisy  with  my  discoveries  in  Asia,  that  I  cannot  come  to 
the  Kii'k  of  Shotta.  Besides,  I  think  there  is  going  to  be  a  change  of  weather — 
and  as  I  have  slept  in  the  Tent  formerly,  when  it  was  in  much  better  repair  than 
now,  I  really  cannot  bring  my  mind  to  think  of  risking  my  health  in  it,  it  being 
said  to  have  so  many  chinks.  Pitch  it  in  a  lone  place,  and  be  sure  you  all  sleep 
together  to  windward.         Yours,  very  sincerely,  H.  M.* 

Excifie  Office,  August  28th. 


II. 

My  Dear  Sir, — My  professional  duties  will  prevent  me  from  joining  the  Mag- 
azine at  present.  Beside,  you  know  I  have  all  along  been  against  this  scheme  of 
the  Tent.  It  is  too  obvious  an  imitation  of  our  good  friends  in  Princes'-street, 
and  you  reaUy  ought  not,  my  worthy  sir,  to  steal  from  Dr.  Morris,  and  at  the 
same  time  abuse  him,  as  1  was  truly  sorry  to  see  you  doing  in  your  last  JSTumber. 
Depend  upon  it,  that  some  confounded  ChtUdee  MS.  or  other  will  be  coming  out 
to  put  you  all  into  hot  water.         I  am,  my  dear  sir,  yours  ever. 

College  Library. 


IIL 


Sir, — It  won't  pay.  Yours,  W.  H.f 

P.  S.— Reynolds  is  off. 

Chapter  Coffee-IIouse,  London,  August  24:th. 


IV. 

Dear  Sir, — Gude  faith,  I  maun  mind  the  shop,  ma  man.     Yours,  however, 
2V/,e  Corner.  D.  B.,  Junior.:}: 

*■  H.  M.  was  intended  for  Henry  Mackenzie,  author  of  The  Man  of  Feeling,  Man  of  the 
World,  Julia  de  Roubign^,  &c.  Mr.  Pitt  made  him  Comptroller  of  the  Taxes  in  Scotland, 
which  he  held  until  hyi  death  in  1831,  at  the  advanced  age  of  S5.-^M. 

t  W.  H.  indicated  William  Hazlett,  against  whom — as  a  friend  of  Leigh  Hunt's,  a  con- 
tributor to  the  Examiner  and  Edinburgh  Review,  and  an  avowed  liberal — Maga  waged  war 
from  1817  until  his  death,  in  18:30.  John  Hamilton  Reynolds  was  brother-in-law  of  Thomas 
Hood.  In  lbl9,  he  was  a  sprightly  contributor  to  Taylor  and  Hessey's  London  Magazine.  He 
wrote  a  pretty  poem,  called  The  Garden  of  Florence,  founded  on  a  story  from  Boccaccio,  and  a 
curious  volume  entitled  Poetical  Remains  of  Peter  Corcoran, — the  said  Peter  having  been  an 
illitarate  prize-fighter.  Mr.  Reynolds  followed  the  profession  of  the  la-w,  which  occupied  him 
so  much,  that  for  years  before  his  death,  (which  took  place  in  1852),  he  had  not  written  for  any 
periodical. 

t  D.  B.,  Junior,  was  a  certain  David  Bridges,  who  had  a  clothier's  shop  in  the  High-street, 
Edinburgh,  and  with  great  taste  for  the  Fine  Arts,  and  extensive  acquaintance  witli  artists,  had 
contrived  to  make  a  very  curious  and  valuable  collection  of  paintings,  drawings,  sketches, 
engravings,  and  etchings,  together  with  many  fine  casts  from  the  antique.  As  Secretary 
of  the  Dilettanti,  he  was  intimate  with  Wilson,  Lockhart,  and  the  rest  of  the  Blackwood 
writers,  (most  of  whom  were  in  membership),  and  hiiBself  and  his  collection  are  duly  noticed 
in  Peter's  Letters. — M. 


1819.]  THE   SHOOTma   MATCH.  67 

V. 

Mr.  Editor. — Honored  Sir, — I  have  got  a  sore  head,  having  been  at  a  Mason 
Lodge  last  night.  But  I  will  take  care  to  send  you  the  second  canto  of  the  Sil- 
liad,  when  you  come  back,  I  return  you  many  thanks  for  the  guinea.  I  am, 
honored  sir,  your  grateful  Contributor,  Willison  Glass.* 

Please  show  the  following  card  to  the  gentlefolks. 
Card  to  the  public. 
An  ordinary  every  lawful  day  at  2  o'clock — cow-heel,  tripe,  liver,  and  lights, 
(and  a  bottle  of  small  beer  between  every  two),  for  5|d.  Also,  on  sale  a  volume 
of  Poems,  price  3  shillings ;  to  which  is  now  added,  an  appendix,  containing  the 
Silliad,  Canto  I.,  published  in  the  last  Number  of  Constable  and  Company's  Edin- 
burgh Magazine.  The  succeeding  Cantos,  which  I  am  fast  writing  for  that  cele- 
brated work,  will  be  delivered  gratis  to  the  3  shilling  subscribers.  Performed 
by  me,  Willison  Glass. 


These  apologies  threw  a  considerable  damp  over  the  Tent,  but,  in 
imitation  of  Odoherty  and  his  companions,  it  was  now  proposed 
to  have  a  shooting  match.  I  hacj  not  previously  observed  any 
arms  or  ammunition  about  the  party,  who  indeed  seemed  inoffensive 
and  altogether  defenceless—but  drunken  Dugald  now  handed  out  the 
weapons,  and  the  match  was  decided  as  follows.  The  Scotsman 
pulled  out  of  a  dirty  bag  (in  which  he  carried  his  spare  shirt)  a  copy 
of  Peter's  Letters — 

"  Aye  me  !  that  e'er  green  Mona'sf  skeely  childe. 
Should  draw  the  breath  impure  of  paynim  dungeon  vilde !" 

and  bellowed  out,  in  a  voice  like  that  of  an  ox  with  a  bull-dog  hang- 
ing by  his  lips,  "  Curse  him,  damn  him,  blast  him ;"  but  here  the 
Flunky  stept  up,  and  beseeched  the  "  Mull  of  Galloway"  to  remem- 
ber the  state  he  was  in  only  a  few  hours  ago,  and  that  two  fits  in  one 
day  would  infallibly  carry  him  off.  The  three  extended  volumes  of 
Dr.  Morris  were  accordmgly  put  up  at  the  distance  of  20  yards, 
forming  a  line  of  about  3^  feet  long  and  1  broad.  The  Editors  and 
Contributors  were  drawn  up  en  potence  by  drunken  Dugald,  who  had 
once  served  in  the  sea  fencibles,  Aberdeen,  but  a  more  awkward 
squad  I  never  clapped  eyes  upon;  and  when  they  came  to  the 
"  shoulder,"  some  of  them  threw  up  their  pieces  into  the  right  hand, 
and  some  into  the  left,  so  that  there  was  great  confusion,  and  the 
Dominie  and  Dr.  Search  actually  exchanged  weapons  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, like  Hamlet  and  Laertes  in  the  play. 

*  Willison  Glass,  as  may  be  noticed,  kept  a  small  inn,  the  familiar  name  of  which  in  Scot- 
land is  *'  a  public."     He  compounded  better  punch  than  poetry — the  latter  being  doggerel. — M. 

t  This  quotation  from  Spenser  is  very  well  in  Hugh  Mullion,  for  the  family  of  Dr.  Morris 
came,  originally,  from  Anglesea.— C.  N. 

i  The  sobriquet  of  authorship  under  which  "  Peter's  Letters  to  his  Kinsfolk"  appeared.  The 
name  of  the  work  was  probably  suggested  by  Paul's  Letters  to  his  Kinsfolk,  published  in  1815, 
in  which  Scott  described  his  visit  to  Belgium  and  France,  immediately  after  the  final  downfall 
of  Napoleon. — M.- 


68 


CHKISTOPHEE   IN   THE   TENT. 


[Sept. 


Trial  on  the  2hth,  at  20  yards'  distance,  all  shooting  with  No.  4  {except  the  Scots- 
man, who  used  rusty  nails,  hits  of  glass,  and  broken  types),  at  the  expanded  three 
Volumes  of  Dr.  Feter  Morris,  of  Foisharpe  Hall,  Aberystivith. 


Editor 

1.  Trial,  found  not  to  be  charged 

2.  Hung  fire 

3.  Flashed  in  the  pan 

4.  Went  off  accidentally 

5.  Missed 

German  Doctor 

Flunky 

Scotsman,  gun  recalled 

Dr.  Search 

Dominie,  blunderbuss  burst 


Wadding. 

Old  Sermon. 


Gardener's  grass 
Foul  Uuen. 

Ditto. 

Foolscap. 

Title-page  of  the 

1st  edit,  of  Cona 

None. 


Shot. 
Oz. 


2i 
5 

i 
5 

I  lb.  pease. 


Grains 
put  in. 

0 


Ditto, 
Ditto.' 
DittoJ 

1 
Ditto 

130 


Leaves 
pierced. 

0 


Ditto. 
Ditto. 
Ditto. 
Ditto. 
Ditto. 


Seven  Young  Men,  pop-gun. 

It  was  a  hopeless  effort — and  one  of  the  Seven  wise  men  (I  beg  his 
pardon),  one  of  the  Seven  Young  Men  proposed  a  trial  at  10  yards  ; 
but  this  was  objected  to  by  another  of  them,  as  the  shot  would  be 
like  one  ball.  He  then  proposed  to  extend  the  distance  to  30  yards, 
when  their  pieces  would  scatter  more  widely — and  accordingly 
Peter's  Letters  were  removed  by  them  to  a  still  higher  elevation. 
But  just  as  Dr.  Search  was  going  to  fire,  his  eye  caught  that  of  the 
well-pleased,  intelligent  physician  of  Aberystwith,  and  suddenly  shut- 
ting his  eyes  very  hard,  as  frightened  as  a  volunteer  on  a  field-day, 
he  let  fly,  and  missed  the  whole  concern  by  at  least  twenty  yards. 
Just  as  the  Dominie  was  going  to  fire,  the  honest  face  of  the  Ettrick 
Shepherd  guffawed  to  him  from  the  comely  octavo,  as  if  he  was  laugh- 
ing to  scorn  the  Tent,  and  all  the  helpless  creatures  about  its  gates, 
and  the  pedagogue's  gun,  which  he  had  borrowed  from  the  Scotsman, 
dropped  from  his  hand. 

Inutile  telum. 

The  Editor's  turn  came  next,  but  just  as  he  was  taking  aim,  the  calm, 
thoughtful,  philosophical  countenance  of  Mr.  Alison  beamed  from 
the  book,*  and  at  its 

Et  tu,  Brute, 

the  Editor  went  to  the  right  about,  and  walked  undischarged  into  the 
Tent.  The  Scotsman  then  took  his  station,  but  the  recoil  of  his 
piece,  on  the  former  trial,  had  swollen  his  right  cheek  to  an  enormous 
size  and  ugliness,  so  that  he  was  constrained  to  take  aim  from  the 
left  side,  and  had  nearly  committed  fratricide  on  one  of  the  stirks 
grazing  in  the  minister's  glebe.     The  Flunky  and  others  gave  up  in 


*  The  Portraits  in  Peter's  Letters.— M. 


1819.] 


THE  PILGEIMAGE  ENDED.  69 


despair ;  and  Dr.  Morris,  invulnerable  to  the  banditti  into  whose 
hands  he  had  fallen,  was  recommitted  a  prisoner  to  the  Scotsman's 
dirty  bag,  from  which  I  hope  he  will  escape  ultimately,  without  either 
infection  or  vermin. 

It  was  now  beginning  to  get  rather  chill  in  this  high  situation,  and 
the  Shott's  shower  came  drifting  by,  so  we  sought  shelter  in  our  Tent. 
But  never  was  anything  so  uncomfortable.  A  sort  of  fire  had  been  kin- 
dled in  it,  and  drunken  Dugald  had  been  at  his  pipe--so  it  was  filled 
with  smoke,  through  whose  darkness  visible  frowned  at  times  the  un- 
comely face  of  the  Scotsman.  It  was  also  very  wet  beneath  foot ;  and 
how,  or  on  what,  we  were  to  pass  the  night,  must  have  been  a  trying 
thought  to  all  of  us.  It  soon  began  to  rain  in  good  earnest,  a  down- 
right plumper,  and  the  water  came  in  as  through  a  sieve.  I  said  nothing, 
but  went  out  and  found  Runciman  with  his  haunches  pressed  close  to 
the  leeside  of  the  Tent,  imploring  shelter.  I  clapped  the  saddle  and  wal- 
lise  on  him,  and  mounted.  Never  was  a  horse  happier.  He  set  oflFat  a 
round  trot,  and  I  soon  got  to  Mid-Calder,  where  I  shifted,  and  made 
myself  comfortable  over  a  jug  of  toddy  with  the  landlord,  who  had 
observed  the  pilgrimage  pass  by,  and  felt  much  for  their  helpless 
condition  when  the  storm  should  come  on.  I  afterwards  understood, 
that  a  message  had  been  sent  from  the  Tent  to  the  Manse  imploring 
a  night's  lodging ;  but  the  excellent  minister  and  his  lady  were  from 
home,  and  the  servant-lasses  would  not,  on  any  account,  admit  any 
but  the  "  Seven  ^Toung  Men,"  who  looked  so  cold  and  innocent  that 
they  were  taken  to  the  kitchen  fireside,  and,  after  a  bellyful  of  butter- 
milk brose,  were  shown  the  door  of  the  barn — but  the  rest  passed  a 
plashy  night  in  the  Tent.  I  am  frightened  to  look  back  at  the  length 
of  this  enormous  letter — crossed  and  re-crossed  like  a  field  in  Spring 
with  the  harrow.  But  you  are  a  good  decipherer — so,  hoping  you 
will  pardon  all  this  nonsense,  which  is  at  least  perfectly  good-natured, 
I  am,  dear  Mordy,  your  affectionate  brother, 

Hugh  Mullion. 

Provision  Warehouse^  Grass-market^  Sej:)^  1. 

Most  of  us  were  greatly  entertained  with  this  odd  letter  of  Hugh 
Mullion,  though  perhaps  all  its  allusions  were  not  understood  by 
more  than  two  or  three  of  the  party,  of  which  number  we  frankly 
confess  that  we  ourselves  were  not.  To  Seward  and  Buller  it 
seemed  wholly  unintelligible,  though  they  both  continued  listening 
to  the  broad  patois  of  Mordy  with  most  laudable  perseverance  ;  the 
first  occasionally  exclaiming,  "  Cursed  witty,  'pon  my  soul,  you 
Scotch  people,  if  a  Christian  could  comprehend  ye  ;"  and  the  latter 
as  doggedly  attentive  as  a  man  to  a  sermon  in  the  incipient  stage  of 
drowsiness ;  while  Price  and  Tims,  who  seemed  quite  alarmed  at  the 
mystery,  took  an  opportunity  of  going  out  of  the  Tent,  with  the 


70  CHRISTOPHER   IN   IHE   TENT.  [Sept. 

avowed  design  of  bathing  Randal  and  Flash  in  the  Dee,  these  two 
tykes  for  some  time  having  sorely  interrupted  the  letter-reader  by 
that  desperate  snuzzling  of  mouth  and  nostril  which  accompanies  an 
unsuccessful  flea-hunt.  But  though  the  Oxonians  were  not  initiated 
into  these  mysteries  of  the  Cabiri,  they  were  highly  delighted  with 
the  spirited  sketch  of  the  pilgrimage — and  Buller,  who,  with  all  his 
gravity  and  taciturnity,  is  evidently  a  wag  in  his  way,  put  himself 
into  an  attitude,  when  sitting  behind  Seward  on  the  head  of  the  whis 
ky-cask,  most  ludicrously  imitative  of  the  Dominie, 

"  Alike — but,  ob  !  how  dijBFerent." 

"  Pray,  Mordy,"  said  Dr.  Morris,  "  have  you  in  good  faith  a  bro- 
ther called  Hugh,  or  is  this  letter  all  a  quiz  *?"  "It  is  exceedingly 
good  to  hear  you  talk  of  quizzing,"  replied  Mordecai — "  but  do  you 
know.  Doctor,  that  many  people  in  Edinburgh  maintain  that  you — 
even  you  yourself — are  a  fictitious  character  altogether,  and  that 
John  Watson's  picture  is  not  a  copy  of,  but  absolutely  the  original 
and  only  Dr.  Morris.  You  are  a  mere  man  of  canvas.  Doctor,  and 
that  pawky  face  and  skeely  skull  of  yours,  so  like  flesh,  blood,  and 
bone,  is,  I  am  credibly  informed,  nothing  but  a  mixture  of  oil-colors, 
and  that  you  were  begotten,  carried  forward,  born  and  bred,  all  in 
about  three  sittings."  Dr.  Morris,  who  is  much  given  to  laugh  at 
others,  was  somewhat  disconcerted  by  this  attack  on  his  very  exist- 
ence, and  Tickler  recommended  him  to  institute  a  prosecution  against 
those  who  absolutely  were  attempting  to  deprive  him,  not  of  the 
means  of  subsistence,  for  that  was  a  mere  trifle,  but  of  a  body  to  be 
subsisted. — "  If,"  continued  Tickler,  "  you  be  indeed  a  fictitious  cha- 
racter, you  are  the  most  skilful  imitation  of  a  human  being  that  I  ever 
met  with  in  daylight.  You  think  nothing  of  eating  a  brace  of  grouse 
and  a  pound  of  branxy  to  your  breakfast — indeed,  always  saving  and 
excepting  our  Editor,  I  will  back  you  to  eat  against  the  whole  Tent 
— and  as  for  the  mountain  dew,  ye  sip  it  like  a  second  Ettrick  Shep- 
herd. Come,  tell  us  frankly  at  once,  are  you,  or  are  you  not,  a  ficti- 
tious character  V  Hogg  chuckled  to  hear  his  friend  Morris  roasted  ; 
"  for,"  quoth  he,  "  Pate  is  aye  playing  oflT  his  tricks  on  me  and  my 
fiznomie;  and  though  I'm  as  good-natured  a  chield  as  maist  folks, ' 
deil  tak  me  gin  I  dinna  turn  about  some  day  on  him  and  some  mair  o' 
you  daft  blades,  and  try  gin  I  canna  write  a  Chaldee  MS.  Gray  was 
doing  a'  he  could  to  put  me  up  to  it  a  gay  while  syne,  but  gin  I  do't 
at  a'  I'll  do't  o'  my  sell,  and  no  for  nane  o'  his  gab — for  he's  jus.t  gaen 
a'  hyte  thegither,  'cause  Dr.  Morris  there  didna  clap  him  in  amang. 
the  leeterawti." — Dr.  Morris  had  by  this  time  recovered  himself,  and 
he  observed,  that  on  a  question  of  this  nature  he  could  scarcely  be 
admitted  as  a  witness,  still  less  as  a  judge.  Yet  he  must  be  allowed 
to  say,  that  the  charge  of  nonentity  brought  against  him  was  far  from 


1819.]  sckibble's  epistle.  71 

being  handsome  in  the  Whigs  of  Edinburgh,  to  whose  existence  he 
had  not  scrupled  to  bear  the  most  honorable  testimony.  "  Pray," 
added  the  Doctor,  "  is  Mr.  Jeffrey  a  fictitious  character  1  Is  Pro- 
fessor Leslie  a  fictitious  character  1  Nay,  to  come  nearer  home,  is 
Mr.  Wastle  here  a  fictitious  character  ?  I  am  confident  that  every 
candid  person  will  at  once  reply  in  the  negative.  Why,  therefore, 
not  admit  me  to  the  same  privilege "? 

"  Though  fame  I  slight,  nor  for  her  favors  call, 
I  come  in  person,  if  I  come  at  all." 

The  point  being  at  last  conceded  to  the  eloquent  physician,  Mr, 
Seward  rose  from  the  cask  with  his  usual  grace,  and  threw  over  to 
us  a  letter,  written  in  a  large  gnostic  sprawling  hand,  on  massy  hot- 
pressed  paper,  and  enclosed  in  a  franked  envelope,  with  a  splash  of 
wax  as  broad  as  a  china  saucer,  which  he  said  we  were  at  liberty  to 
read,  now  that  the  Cockneys  were  hunting  the  Naiads,  swearing  us 
at  the  same  time  to  silence,  as  from  the  irascible  temper  of  Tims, 
who  had  lately  been  within  an  ace  of  swallowing  the  Standard-bearer, 
he  could  not  hope  to  return  to  his  rooms  in  Peck-water,*  were  that 
illustrious  Luddite  to  discover  the  nature  of  his  correspondence  with 
old  Scribble. 

TO    HARRY    SEWARD,    ESQ, 

Bedford  Coffee-House,  Sept.  1,  1819. 

I  PITY  you  sincerely,  my  dear  friend,  amongst  those  Scottish  sav- 
ages. You  are  like  Theseus  amongst  the  Centaurs.  Buller  himself 
seems  to  be  undergoing  a  sort  of  metempsychosis,  and  his  transform- 
ation begins  at  the  stomach.  He  is,  probably,  by  this  time,  a  wolf. 
As  to  those  tv/o  anomalous  instances  of  humanity,  those  Weaklings 
of  the  City,  I  really  expect  that  they  will  be  devoured  in  the  first 
dearth  of  game,  and  that  Tims,  being  found  too  meagre  even  for  soup, 
will  be  cast  as  "  bones"  to  those  lean  and  hungry  quadrupeds  who 
follow  the  march  of  your  frightful  army.  Everything  with  you 
seems  to  wear  the  same  face ;  from  the  "  imber  edax"  to  the  canines 
themselves. 

Well,  here  I  am,  the  victim  of  leisure  and  hot  weather.  I  am 
waiting  my  uncle's  arrival  from  Paris,  and  my  only  consolation  is, 
that  I  am  at  least  on  duty.  I  struggle  through  the  day  in  the  most 
pitiable  perplexity,  laboring  from  hour  to  hour  to  be  amused  and 
amusing  in  vain.  I  even  suspect  that  I  shall  infuse  a  portion  of  my 
languor  into  this  my  epistle  to  you.  I  don't  know  how  the  devil  the 
women  contrive  to  get  on,  but  there  is  a  spirit  of  perversity  about 
them  now  and  then,  which  supplies  the  place  of  animal  strength. 

*  Mr.  Seward  has  since  condescended  to  inform  us  that  Peck-water  is  the  name  of  one  of  the 
quadrangles  (or,  as  he  terms  them,  quads)  of  Christ-Church,  Oxford.— C.  ]Sf. 


72  CHRISTOPHER   IN   THE  TENT.  fSept 

The  male  performers  at  the  Lyceum  have  evidently  been  unable  to 
go  through  three  pieces  each  night ;  so  the  women  started  (all  fillies 
as  for  the  "  Oaks"),  and  ran  over  the  ground  alone.  This  is  a  piece 
of  impudence  on  the  part  of  the  petticoats  which  deserves  something 
more  than  mere  remonstrance.  Miss  Kelly,  to  be  sure,  stands  out 
as  a  fine  concentration  of  the  male  species  (she  is  the  only  approxi- 
mation to  the  sex),  and  "  serves  you  out"  with  a  due  portion  of  talk, 
in  order  to  do  justice  to  her  corporate  capacity.  Mrs.  Chatterly, 
too,  is  a  pleasant  evidence  of  loquacious  frailty  ;  and  Miss  Stevenson, 
with  only  one  character  to  support,  has  a  sort  of  double-tongued 
attainment,  which  she  puts  forth  in  a  way  prepossessingly  earnest. 
We  feel  convinced,  at  once,  that  Mr.  Ashe  is  by  no  means  the  only 
person  who  can  perform  a  duet  on  one  instrument. 

I  lament,  sincerely,  that  you  haven't  got  your  gloves  Avith  you  ; 
otherwise  you  might  take  the  conceit  out  of  Mister  Price,  and  abolish 
Tims  altogether, — the  one  for  affecting  the  gentleman,  and  the  other 
for  imitating  man  at  all. 

Tims  ! — there  is  a  monosyllabic  thinness  in  the  name  that  stands  in 
the  place  of  the  most  elaborate  comment.  It  has  no  weight  upon  the 
tongue,  and  sounds  like  the  essence  of  nothing.  It  scarcely  amounts 
to  "  thin  air ;"  and  when  one  strives  to  elevate  it  to  the  dignity  of  a 
word,  one  feels  a  consciousness  that  the  attempt  is  presumptuous  and 
vain.  The  letters  seem  scarcely  the  legitimate  offspring  of  the  alpha- 
bet. They  have,  collectively,  none  of  the  softness  of  the  vowel,  and 
none  of  the  strength  of  the  consonant :  but  seem  to  be  at  the  half-way 
house  between  meaning  and  absurdity.  The  name  (pronounce  it) 
sounds  like  the  passing  buzz  of  a  drone.  It  is  like  a  small  and  ill- 
favored  number  in  the  lottery,  which  seems  predestined  to  be  a  blank 
from  the  beginning.  I  see  Tims  "  the  shadow"  before  me ;  and  when- 
ever, for  the  future,  I  shall  quote  the  saying  of  the  mighty  Julius,  I 
will  say,  "Aut  Caesar,  aut  Tims  !" 

And  then  you  tell  me  of  Mister  Price.  I  admire  your  ingenious 
note  about  dandies,  but  the  subject  is  stale,  and  I  cannot  revive  it. 
He  seems  of  the  same  intellectual  stature  with  his  friend,  but  he  has 
more  of  the  leaven  of  mortality  about  him.  This  seems  to  be  the 
sole  distinction  between  them — one  appears  to  be  a  vehicle  for  want 
of  meaning,  and  the  other  cannot  claim  to  be  even  anything.  The 
utterance  of  the  name  of  "  Price"  leaves  the  lips  in  a  state  of  suspen- 
sion, and  as  it  were  consideration,  which  alone  gives  him  claim  to 
some  attention.  One  says,  almost  mechanically,  "  Price  !" — "  What 
Price  '?" — any  Price  : — no  Price.  The  fall  is  like  that  of  the  stocks 
in  stormy  times,  except  that  the  name  is  scarcely  worth  a  "  specula- 
tion." 

Talking  of  gloves,  as  Mr.  Aircastle  would  say,  puts  me  in  mind 


1819.]  THE  iRma.  73 

of  the  real  thing,  of  which  gloves  are  but  the  representatives.'^  Cy 
Davis  has  retrieved  his  fame.  He  has  committed  a  sort  of  conquest 
upon  a  gentleman  from  th«  "Emerald  isle,"  whose  genius  was  any- 
4;hing  but  pugilistic.  They  met  at  Moulsey  ;  the  collision  was  striking 
enough,  but  altogether  in  favor  of  Cy.  Your  friends  are  wrong  about 
Donelly.  He  did  not  "  go  immediately  to  Brighton."  I  saw  him 
at  Riddlesdown  about  three  hours  after  his  victory^  as  it  has  been 
pleasantly  called  (he  was  within  an  ace  of  getting  a  drubbing),  and  I 
heard  Shelton  invite  him  very  civilly  to  a  renewal  of  the  sport  in 
two  or  three  months'  time.  "  Sir  Daniel,"  however,  seemed  to  have 
more  than  enough  of  conquest,  and  sported  forbearance.  He  is  a 
heavy,  awkward  fellow,  and  beat,  by  mere  accident,  Oliver,  who  is 
much  lighter  than  himself,  and  the  slowest  hitter  in  the  ring.  "  Mr. 
Daniel,"  before  the  battle,  affected  to  be  sorry  for  poor  "  Oliver,  on 
account  of  his  family — becase  he  should  bate  him  so  asily  I  /"  But 
what  is  all  this  to  you,  who,  it  seems,  put  forth  your  Oxford  fruit  in 
a  foreign  land,  and  reduce  the  Coliseum  to  couplets. 

By-the-by,  if  Buller  should  go  on  blundering  at  the  birds  as  in  the 
olden  time,  he  will  stand  a  good  chance  of  getting  a  coup  de  grace 
from  one  or  other  of  your  new  friends.  Perhaps  Mr.  Odoherty  may 
"  do  the  honors,"  or  the  task  may  be  confided  to  the  "  shepherd's 
dog,"  in  one  of  those  snug  dells  which  occur  frequently  among  the 
mountains.  Mr.  Odoherty  is  a  pleasant  exotic,  who  would  run  wild 
in  any  soil.  Give  my  compliments  to  him ;  and  say  that,  for  Dr. 
Morris,  his  visage,  and  his  craniology,  I  profess  to  entertain  the  most 
profound  respect. 

I  have  scarcely  room  to  say  that  I  am,  as  usual,  yours  very  sin- 
cerely, Freeman  Scribble. 

At  the  conclusion  of  this  epistle,  the  Ettrick  Shepherd  asked  Sew- 
ard, with  more  asperity  than  we  recollect  ever  before  to  have  seen 
him  exhibit,  "  Wha  that  Scribble  ane  had  in  his  ee  when  he  tanked 
o'  Scottish  savages  f  Seward,  who  had  long  taken  a  strong  liking 
to  the  Shepherd,  gave  him  the  most  reiterated  assurances  that  there 
was  nothing  personal  in  the  remark,  but  that,  on  the  contrary,  it  ap- 
plied to  the  Editor  and  all  the  Contributors  indiscriminately — with 
which  satisfactory  explanation  the  Bard  seemed  quite  contented. 
Nothing  could  be  more  delightful  than  to  witness  the  friendship  of 
those  two  great  men.     We  had  been  informed  in  the  morning,  by 

*  A  promising  plant  of  the  Bristol  Garden.  He  was  beat  by  Turner,  and  it  was  thought  by 
some,  that  he  fought  shy  of  the  Welshman's  left-hand — but  t'other  day,  he  smashed  Bushncl, 
the  little  Irish  Ajax,  like  so  much  crockery-ware.  Cy.  is  a  good  hitter — but  he  is  fond  of 
ha.ving  things  his  own  way.  and  is  thought  to  pay  a  compliment  better  than  he  receives  one. 
But  who  is  perfect  ? — C.N.  [Cy.,  or  Cyril  Davies,  was  a  professional  prize-fighter.  So  was 
Shelton,  and  so  was  Donelly,  commonly  called  "  Sir  Daniel,"  on  his  own  report  that,  after  kr. 
fought  and  beat  Oliver,  in  July,  1819,  he  was  invited  to  meet  the  Prince  Regent,  at  Brighto.. 
where  he  received  the  honor  of  Knighthood  ! — M.] 
VOL.  I.  4 


74:  CHEISTOPHER   m   THE   TENT.  [Sept 

Tickler,  that  during  our  absence  Hogg  and  Seward  were  insepa- 
rable. The  Shepherd  recited  to  the  Oxonian  his  wild  lays  of  fairy 
superstition,  and  his  countless  traditionary  ballads  of  the  olden  time 
— while  the  Christ-Church  man,  in  return,  spouted  Eton  and  Oxford 
Prize  Poems, — some  of  them  in  Latin,  and,  it  was  suspected,  one  or 
two  even  in  Greek, — greatly  to  the  illumination,  no  doubt,  of  the 
Pastoral  Bard.  Hogg,  however,  frankly  informed  his  gay  young 
friend,  "  that  he  could  na  thole  college  poetry,  it  was  a'  sae  desperate 
stupid.  As  for  the  Latin  and  Greek  poems,  he  liked  them  weel 
enough,  for  it  was  na  necessary  for  ony  body  to  understand  them  ; 
but  for  his  ain  part,  he  aye  wished  the  English  anes  to  hae  just  some 
wee  bit  inkling  o'  meaning,  and,  on  that  account,  he  hated  worse  o' 
a'  them  that  Seward  called  by  the  curious  name  o'  Sir  Roger  New- 
digates.*  Deel  tak  me,"  quoth  the  Shepherd,  "  gin  the  Sir  Rogers 
binna  lang  supple  idiots  o'  lines,  no  worthy  being  set  up  in  teeps." 
"  Similitude  in  Dissimilitude"  is  the  principle  of  friendship  as  well 
as,  according  to  Mr.  Wordsworth,  of  poetry — and  certainly,  while 
Hogg  and  Seward  resembled  each  other  in  frankness,  joviality,  good 
humor,  generosity,  and  genius,  there  is  no  denying  that  the  shades 
of  difference  in  their  appearance,  dress,  and  manners,  were  very  per- 
ceptible. Seward  was  most  importunate  on  the  Shepherd  to  get  him 
to  promise  a  visit  to  Oxford,  where,  with  his  light  sky-blue  jacket  and 
white  hat,  he  would  electrify  the  Proctors.  Nay,  the  Englishman 
went  so  far  as  to  suggest  the  propriety  of  the  Shepherd's  entering 
himself  at  one  of  the  Halls,  where  gentlemen,  by  many  years  his 
senior,  sometimes  come  to  revive  the  studies  of  their  youth — and 
"  who  knows,"  said  Seward,  "  my  dear  chum,  if  the  Ettrick  Shepherd 
may  not  one  day  or  other  be  the  Principal  of  St.  Mary's  Hall." 
The  Shepherd  replied  with  his  usual  naivete,  that  he  '■  preferred  re- 
maining the  Principal  of  St.  Mary's  Loch ;"  at  which  piece  of  plea- 
santry Buller  himself,  though  a  severe  critic  of  jokes,  condescended 
to  smile,  somewhat  after  the  manner  of  Dr.  Hodgson.f 

We  took  up  a  little  parcel,  which  had  been  forwarded  to  us  from 
Edinburgh,  and  found  it  to  contain  some  very  beautiful  verses  by 
Mrs.  Hemans,  on  a  subject  that  could  not  but  be  profoundly  inter- 
esting to  the  soul  of  every  Scotsman.  Our  readers  will  remember, 
that  about  a  year  ago,  a  truly  patriotic  person  signified  his  intention 
of  giving  £1,000  towards  the  erection  of  a  monument  to  Sir  William 
Wallace.  At  the  same  time,  he  proposed  a  prize  of  £50  to  the  best 
Poem  on  the  following  subject — '•  The  meeting  of  Wallace  and  Bruce 

*  The  prize  contended  for  at  Oxford,  by  under-graduates,  for  the  best  poem  on  a  given 
subject,  was  founded  by  Sir  Roger  Newdigate,  whose  name  it  bears.  Lord  Heber,  Guenlos, 
Wilson,  and  Milman,  are  about  the  only  true  poets  who  have  obtained  this  prize  within  the 
last  half  century.— M. 

t  This  was  the  Rev.  Dr.  Frodsham  Hodgson,  then  Principal  of  Brazenose  College,  Ox- 
ford.—M. 


1819,]  BERZELirS    PENDEAGOK.  75 

on  the  Banks  of  the  Carron."  This  prize  was  lately  adjudged  to 
Mrs.  Hemans,  whose  poetical  genius  has  been  for  some  years  well 
known  to  the  public,  by  those  very  beautiful  poems,  "  Greece,"  and 
"The  Restoration  of  the  Works  of  Art  to  Italy."— Our  pages  have 
already  been  graced  with  some  of  her  finest  verses — witness  that 
most  pathetic  Elegy  on  the  Death  of  the  Princess  Charlotte,  which 
first  appeared  in  our  Miscellany.  It  was  with  much  pleasure  that 
we  lately  observed,  in  that  respectable  journal,  the  Edinburgh 
Monthly  Review,  a  very  elegant  critique  on  a  new  volume  of  Mrs. 
Hemans,  entitled  "  Tales  and  Historic  Scenes,"  with  copious  ex- 
tracts ;  and  when  we  mentioned  in  the  Tent,  that  Mrs.  Hemans  had 
authorized  the  judges,  who  awarded  to  her  the  prize,  to  send  her 
poem  to  us,  it  is  needless  to  say  with  what  enthusiasm  the  proposal 
of  reading  it  aloud  was  received  on  all  sides,  and  at  its  conclusion 
what  thunders  of  applause  crowned  the  genius  of  the  fair  poet. 
Scotland  has  her  Baillie — Ireland  her  Tighe — England  her  Hemans.* 
We  now  took  up,  with  great  satisfaction,  a  small  packet,  the  su- 
perscription of  which  was  evidently  in  the  hand-writing  of  our  old 
worthy  friend,  Dr.  Berzelius  Pendragon.  The  Doctor,,  though  now 
a  shining  star  of  the  Episcopalian  Church,  had  not  been  originally 
destined  for  holy  orders,  and  for  some  years  bore  the  commission  of 
surgeon  in  the  1st  regiment  of  the  West- York  Militia.  On  its  re- 
duction he  naturally  enough  turned  his  thoughts  to  divinity ;  and 
having,  at  the  age  of  fifty,  got  a  curacy  worth  £80,  at  least,  per 
annum — he,  being  a  bachelor,  may  be  said  to  have  been  in  easy,  if 
not  affluent  circumstances.  Just  on  reaching  his  grand  climacteric 
he  fell  into  matrimony,  and  the  cares  of  an  infant  family  ensuing,  he 
very  judiciously  took  boarders  and  wrote  for  reviews.  The  board- 
ers, however,  being  all  north-countrymen,  and  thence  voracious, 
over-eat  the  terms ;  and  the  reviews  paid  only  £2  2s.  per  sheet  of 
original  matter,  where  extracts  were  of  no  avail.  Having  heard  of 
our  Magazine — as  indeed  who  has  not  1 — he  came  down  into  Scot- 

*  Joanna  Baillie,  author  of  Plays  on  the  Passions,  and  Felicia  Hemans,  the  lyric  poet,  are 
too  well  known  to  require  particiilar  notice  here.  The  name  of  Mrs.  Tighe  is  less  known. 
She  was  the  lovely  and  accomplished  wife  of  an  Irish  gentleman,  and  was  herself  a  daugh- 
ter of  Erin.  She  wrote  a  beautiful  poem,  in  the  Spenserian  stanza,  entitled  "  Psyche,"  which 
did  not  appear  until  after  her  death.  The  touching  lyric  on  "  The  Grave  of  a  Poetess,"  was 
written  by  Mrs.  Hemans,  in  view  of  her  last  resting-place,  and  one  of  Moore's  Irish  Melodies, 
("  I  saw  thy  Form  in  Youthful  Prime,")  was  suggested  by  her  early  death.  There  was  as 
much  truth  as  poetry,  if  all  that  is  related  of  Mrs.  Tighe  be  true,  in  the  concluding  stanza. 
If  souls  could  always  dwell  above. 

Thou  ne'er  hadst  left  that  sphere  ; 
Or  could  we  keep  the  souls  we  love, 

We  ne'er  had  lost  thee  here,  Mary  ! 
Though  many  a  gifted  mind  we  meet, 

Though  fairest  forms  we  see. 

To  live  with  them  is  far  less  sweet, 

Than  to  remember  thee,  Mary  ! 

Moore  admits  that,  in  the  closing  lines,  he  endeavored  to  imitate  that  exquisite  inscription 
of  Shenstone's,  "  Heu  I  quanto  minus  est  cum  reliquis  versari  quam  tui  meminesse  I" — M. 


76  CHEISTOPHER   IN  THE  TENT.  [Sept 

land  in  1818,  and  took  up  his  abode  with  Ben  Waters.*  No  man  ever 
so  looked  the  Contributor  as  the  Rev.  Berzelius  Pendragon  (for  at 
that  time  he  had  no  degree) ;  and  we  accordingly  put  him  into  train- 
ing in  Constable's  Magazine,  to  see  as  it  were  what  he  could  do  there 
with  the  mufflers,  before  we  ventured  to  back  him  in  a  real  stand-up 
fight.  His  first  performances  were  promising  ;  and  his  account  of  a 
wonderful  American  animal,  twenty  feet  high,  and  with  sole.s  three 
yards  in  circumference  (under  the  fictitious  signature  of  Serjeant 
Pollock,  Blantyre),  attracted  considerable  notice  among  the  natural- 
ists of  the  united  kingdoms.  Unfortunately,  in  the  farther  prosecu- 
tion of  that  animal,  he  committed  himself  by  some  allusion  to  Sir 
Joseph  Banks,  who  was  then  too  ill  to  be  taking  that  active  interest 
in  the  mastodonton  (so  the  creature  of  Pendragon's  imagination  was 
called)  attributed  to  him  ;  and  the  suspicions'  of  the  sapient  Editor 
having  been  awakened,  he  very  considerately  wrote  to  Dr.  Hodgson 
of  Blantyre  for  a  certificate  of  Serjeant  Pollock's  existence.  The 
Serjeant  of  course  turned  out  to  be  as  completely  a  fictitious  animal 
as  the  mastodonton  himself,  and  the  soles  of  his  feet  precisely  of  the 
same  dimensions  ;  and  of  course  a  very  striking  anatomical  sketch  of 
the  latter,  which  Berzelius  had  drawn  for  Constable,  was  committed 
to  the  flames,  and  the  very  paper  bones  of  the  formidable  monster 
reduced  to  ashes.  Pendragon,  however,  had  acquired  reputation  by 
this  set-to,  and  he  was  matched  against  the  Bagman  (See  Number 
for  August,  1818), f  whom  he  beat  with  apparent  ease;  though  we 
confess,  that  during  the  battle  he  attempted  more  than  one  blow  of 
dubious  character,  which  the  Bagman,  who  is  a  fine  spirited  lad, 
agreed  to  overlook. 

His  fame  getting  wind,  the  Senatus  Academicus  of  the  University 
of  Glasgow,  in  the  handsomest  manner,  conferred  upon  him  the 
unsolicited  degree  of  D.D.,  and  rarely  has  it  been  by  them  so  judi- 
ciously bestowed.  From  this  time,  our  friend  Pendragon,  who  had 
been  previously  noted  for  a  sort  of  dry  humor,  that  in  days  of  old 
was  wont  to  set  the  mess-table  of  the  West- York  Militia  in  a  roar, 
became  somewhat  grave  and  formal — nay,  even  pompous  and  aphor- 

*  Ben  Waters  kept  a  tavern  in  Edinburgh,  much  frequented  by  "  young  men  about  town." 
Odoherty,  who  celebrated  his  praise  and  that  of  Bill  Young,  at  whose  hostelree  the  Dilettanti 
used  to  meet,  speaks  of  Waters,  as 

"  charming  Ben, 
Simplest  and  stupidest  of  men." 
Young  and  Waters,  with  their  laureate,  have  passed  away  and  are  among  the  things  which 
have  been. — M. 

t  This  was  an  amusing  review  of  two  works  simultaneously  published  in  London,  in  1817, 
One  was  '"Letters  from  the  North  Highlands,"  by  Elizabeth  Isabella  Spence  ;  the  other, 
"Letters  from  Scotland,  by  a.n  English  Commercial  Traveller."  It  is  difficult  to  say  which 
was  most  amusing — from  sheer  absurdity.  The  lady  intensely  admired  every  thing  Scottish  ; 
the  gentleman  turned  up  his  nose  at  every  thing  which  was  not  from  "  Imn'un."  Blackwood 
seized  the  tit-bits  of  each  book,  and  made  a  ''  righte  merry  and  delichtful"  article  from  them, 
concluding  with  a  suggestion,  that  the  Travelling  Spinster  and  the  Literary  Bagman  should 
marry.  The  article  excited  much  amusement  at  the  time,  (by  the  way,  it  sold  off  two  editions 
of  the  books  I    and  is  often  referred  to  in  Blackwood. — M. 


1819.]  AT   AMBEOSe's.  'Y7 

istical — so  that  he  reminded  us  very  much  of  Dr.  Sleath,  the  present 
head-master  of  St.  Paul's  School,  London,  formerly  of  Rugby.  He 
is,  however,  a  truly  worthy  man — "  a  man  of  morals  and  of  manners 
too ;"  and  our  readers  will  be  happy  to  be  informed,  that  what  with 
"  the  annual  comings-in  of  a  small  benefice,"  (such  are  some  words 
in  The  Excursion,)  and  what  with  our  ten  guineas  per  sheet,  the 
Doctor  and  Mrs.  Pendragon  contrive  to  make  the  ends  meet  very 
comfortably,  and  likewise  to  support  a  family  which  bids  fair  to 
emulate  in  numbers  that  of  the  greatest  productive  laborer  of  this 
economical  age — the  President  of  the  Board  of  Agriculture !  After 
this  slight  and  imperfect  sketch  of  Berzelius  Pendragon,  D.D. — for 
he  was  not  known  to  the  whole  conclave — we  did  not  fear  to  read 
aloud  the  following  article  on 


It  is  quite  possible  to  have  too  much  of  a  good  thing.  This  may 
be  considered  as  a  somewhat  trite  and  elderly  remark,  to  proceed 
from  the  pen  of  one  of  our  (collectively  speaking)  original  and  erratic 
divan.  But  fortunately  for  the  existence  and  well-being  of  that  at 
present  flourishing  fraternity,  there  yet  remains  amongst  them  one 
sober,  staid,  and  quietly  disposed  gentleman — -one  true-bred  and 
thoro'-paced  Reviewer  of  the  old  school — in  short,  that  anomaly  in 
our  little  museum  of  natural  history  at  Ambrose's,  "  a  married  man 
between  fifty  and  sixty."  By-the-by,  that  "obscure  man,"  the 
Editor,  seems,  during  our  absence  from  the  shooting  party  on  the 
twelfth  of  August,  to  have  entirely  forgotten  us.  But  we  do  not 
wonder  at  it — for  the  whole  party  frequently  forget  us  even  in  our 
very  presence,  when  we  are  sitting  in  due  state  over  our  pint  of 
London  porter,  after  supper  at  Ambrose's — listening  to, — or  at  least 
hearing,  their  enormous  jokes.  And  yet  there  is  nothing  very 
strange  in  this,  for,  to  disclose  one  of  the  "  secrets  of  the  prison- 
house,"  they  sometimes,  on  these  occasions,  forget  themselves. 

But  observe  the  eflfect  of  "  evil  communication  !".  The  perpetual 
example  of  these  flighty  fellow-laborers  of  ours  has  actually  betrayed 
us,  Berzelius  Pendragon,  D.D.f  into  the  unpardonable  indecorum  of 
departing  from  the  straight  road  which  we  had  prescribed  to  our- 
selves. 

*  Printed  for  A.  Dry,  London.  1819.  3  vols.  4to.  24  guineas.— C.  N.  [This  was  what  is  called 
"  a  skit,"  in  the  manner,  introduced  in  Maga,  of  throwing  a  great  deal  of  personal  allusions 
into  its  critical  articles.  Mr.  Pyne,  actually  did  produce  a  work  on  the  Royal  Residences  in 
Great  Britain.— M.] 

t  It  may  be  well  to  state  that  one  of  our  brethren  (the  reader  will  guess  ivhich)^  knowing  no 
better,  interpreted  this  D.D.  Doctor  of  Decorum  ;  alluding  probably  to  our  increasing,  though 
too  frequently  ineffectual,  efforts  to  preserve  that  propriety  of  conduct  at  our  meetings  without 
which  a  society  of  literati  are  little  better  than  a  society  of  other  people.  Ever  since  that 
time,  though  there  are  several  other  doctors  among  us,  we  have  been  styled  The  Doctor,  par 
excellence.    Perhaps  they  give  us  this  title  as  a  q^uiz,  but  we  take  it  as  a  compliment, — B.  P. 


78  CHEISTOPHER  m  THE  TENT.  [Sept. 

We  were  about  to  observe,  that  if  it  were  not  for  a  Contributor  of 
the  kind  we  have  described  ourselves  to  be, — capable  and  willing  to 
throw  in  a  measure  of  salutary  dulness  now  and  then,  by  way  of 
ballast, — the  vessel  would  very  soon  upset,  or  be  blown  clean  out  of 
the  water.  With  all  our  sober  and  constitutional  views  on  politics, 
properly  so-called,  yet  we  are  fain  to  confess,  that  there  is  nothing  like  a 
republican  form  of  government  in  societies  like  ours.  Or  perhaps  it 
should  rather  be  called  an  oligarchy.  In  short,  let  it  be  anything  rather 
than  a  monarchy ;  for  in  three  months  thai  would  inevitably  degenerate 
into  a  flat  despotism.  Think,  for  a  moment,  of  our  Miscellany  being 
governed  or  conducted  by  any  one  among  our  numerous,  and,  in 
their  own  departments  and  their  own  opinions,  highly  gifted  frater- 
nity !  why,  instead  of  being,  as  it  is  now,  a  perpetual  "  Magazin  de 
Nouveautes,"  a  perfect  "  Theatre  de  Varietes," — it  would  instantly 
be  recast  in  the  mould  of  the  self-love  of  him  into  whose  hands  it 
might  fall,  and  become,  like  the  walls  of  Carlisle  prison,  all  of  a 
color,  and  very  hard  to  get  through. 

For  example  :■ — If  the  conduct  of  our  work  were  resigned  to  Dr. 
Morris,  does  any  one  who  knows  that  worthy  Welshman  doubt  that, 
notwithstanding  his  natural  acuteness  and  love  of  variety,  he  would 
be  tempted  to  make  it  subserve  to  the  aggrandizement  of  (whatever 
he  may  say  or  swear  to  the  contrary)  his  favorite  study  1  All  its  fea- 
tures would  be  changed.  The  four  sides  of  the  cover,  instead  of  exhi- 
biting the  philosophical  and  philanthropic  physiognomy  which  has  been 
mistaken  for  that  of  Mr.  Blackwood  himself, — and  the  interesting 
and  instructive  advertisements  of  books  published  by  "  John  Murray 
and  William  Blackwood,"  or  "  William  Blackwood  and  John 
Murray,"  would  be  occupied  by  a  front,  a  back,  and  two  side  views 
of  the  human  skull  divine,  forming,  together,  a  complete  atlas  of  the 
geography  of  the  four  different  quarters  of  that  (in  his  opinion) 
celestial  globe.*  And  the  internal  arrangements  would  undergo  a 
change  no  less  calculated  to  "  perplex  the  nations ;"  for  the  doctor 
would  certainly  convert  it  into  a  kind  of  log-book,  to  record  the  dis- 
coveries he  has  made,  and  intends  to  make,  in  his  late  and  future 
expeditions  to  examine  the  regions  about  the  North  Pole. 

Would  the  work  be  better  off  under  the  sole  guidance  of  any  other 
among  us  ?  Alas !  no,  Kempferhausen  would  inflate  it  into  a  huge 
paper-balloon,  to  go  up  into  the  clouds  monthly,  and  carry  messages 
between  him  and  his  lady,  the  moon.  Wastle  would  make  it  all 
rhyme — which  is  bad  enough  ;  and  Lauer winkle  all  reason — which  is 
.worse.     Nay,  we  shall  candidly  confess — (for  candor  is  our  foible) — 

•  The  medallion  portrait  of  Georj^e  Buchanan,  the  Scottish  historian  and  poet,  actually  had 
been  taken,  in  certain  dark  parts  of  Scotland,  as  a  representation  of  Blackwood  or  Kit  North, 
In  "  Peter's  Letters,"  the  j,seudo-Dr.  Morris  affected  to  be  an  enthusiastic  disciple  of  Phre- 
nology, a  science  of  recent  discovery,  in  1819. — M. 


1819.]  THE   TWELVE   C^SABS.  79 

that  if  loe  ourselves  had  the  management  of  it,  it  would  probably  be 
very  little  better  than  Constable's. 

Even  if  Odoherty — the  inexhaustible  and  immortal  Odohertj — (I 
call  him  "  immortal" — for  it  appears  that  he  has  hitherto  escaped 
unhurt  from  Waterloo,  an  Irish  widow,  and  whisky  punch,)  even  if 
he  were  to  undertake  the  care,  it  would  certainly  fail — for  he  would 
make  it  anything,  which  is  nothing.  That  is  to  say,  he  would  "  make 
nothing  of  it."  Or  if  he  did,  it  would  be  only  fun : — And  if  one 
could  conceive  an  ocean  formed  all  of  whisky  toddy — (nothing  but 
the  antique  imagination  of  the  Ettrick  Shepherd,  or  the  antic  one  of 
Odoherty,  could  conceive  such  a  thing) — it  would  probably  be  quite 
as  unpleasant  and  as  unprofitable  to  be  drowned  in  that  as  in  one  of 
common  salt-water. 

No.  If  we  regard  the  welfare  of  our  little  community,  we  must 
none  of  us  aspire  to  be  Caesars.  Unless,  indeed,  when  a  dozen  of  us 
are  met  together  at  our  little  librarj^  in  Gabriel's  Road,  we  can 
fancy  ourselves,  for  the  time-being,  the  twelve  Caesars,  shut  up  in 
a  coin-collector's  cabinet.  The  truth  is,  we  form  a  very  strong  and 
handsome  bundle  as  it  is ;  but  if  any  accident  should  break  the  string 
that  holds  us  together,  we  shall  be  no  better  than  so  many  sticks. 

But  we  are  astonished,  and  even  scandalized,  on  looking  over  what 
we  have  written  !  Why,  we  have  been  thinking  and  talking  about  our 
flashy  and  frisky  fraternity,  till  they  have  actually  inveigled  us  into  a  fit 
of  momentary  mirth  !  To  our  contemplation  the  thing  seems  as  little 
in  keeping,  as  it  would  be  to  see  Professor  Leslie  play  at  leap-frog,* 
or  Dugald  Stewart  dance  a  saraband.  A  fit  of  pleasantry  ! — -We 
would  as  soon,  if  not  sooner,  have  had  a  fit  of  the  gout :  Eor  while 
the  former  is  sure  to  betray  us  into  some  idle  and  unseemly  levity, 
the  latter, — with  its  concomitants  of  easy-chair,  foot-stool,  flannel 
and.  Maderia, — gives  an  air  of  doctorial  dignity  to  the  whole  man  ; 
and  demands  a  degree  of  deference  and  respect  oftener — (we  grieve 
to  say  it) — oftener  expected  than  paid.  Truly,  we  have  most 
strangely  departed  from  the  accustomed  and  required  dignity  of  our 
department.  If  we  should  hereafter  learn  that  we  have  been  so 
unhappy  as  to  call  up  a  smile  to  the  face  of  the  reader,  we  shall 
never  forgive  ourselves ; — and  shall  never  hear  the  last  of  it  at 
Ambrose's.  But  still  the  reader  himself  shall  not  suffer  through  our 
misconduct :  for,  seeing  that  at  the  outset  of  our  article  we  have  been 
more  lively   than  became  us,  we  shall   take  care,  throughout  the 

*  In  Peter's  Letters  there  is  a  description  of  a  day  passed  -witk  Jeffrey,  at  Craig-crook,  (his 
country-seat  near  Edinburgh),  in  1818,  when  Professors  Playfair  and  Leslie  were  of  the  party. 
A  trial  of  strength  in  leaping  was  proposed,  and,  says  Dr.  Morris,  "  with  the  exception  of 
Leslie,  they  all  jumped  wonderfully  ;  and  Jeffrey  was  quite  miraculous,  considering  his 
brevity  of  stride.  But  the  greatest  wonder  of  the  whole  was  Mr.  Playfair.  He  was,  also,  a 
short  man,  and  he  cannot  be  less  than  seventy,  yet  he  took  his  stand  with  the  assurance  of  an 
athlete,  and  positively  beat  every  one  of  us, — the  very  best  of  us,  at  least  half  a  heel's 
breadth."— M.' 


80  CHRISTOPHER   IN   THE   TENT.  [Sept. 

remainder  of  it,  to  indulge  him  with  more  than  our  usual  and  stipu- 
lated proportion  of  dulhiess.  But,  before  proceeding  to  the  imme- 
diate subject  of  our  article,  it  may  be  well  to  state,  for  the  satisfac- 
tion of  all  parties,  that  the  foregoing  is  our  very  first  exhibition  of 
this  kind  ;  and  is  likely  to  be  the  very  last.  We  might,  to  be  sure, 
expunge  the  objectionable  part  of  what  we  have  written,  and  re-write 
the  whole  article.  .  But, — to  say  nothing  of  our  being  rather  behind 
our  time, — we  have  considered  that  it  will  be,  upon  the  whole,  better 
to  let  it  remain ;  as  a  salutary  warning,  both  to  ourselves  and  others, 
not  to  quit  the  path  which  nature,  habit,  and  inclination  have  marked 
out  for  them  : — For,  if  we  may  judge  of  ourselves,  we  cut  as  strange 
a  figure  at  a  frisk,  as  the  Ettrick  Shepherd  would  at  a  quadrille 
party.  For  be  it  known  to  all  whom  it  may  concern,  (and  whom  does 
it  not  concern?) — that  we,  Berzelius  Pendragon,  D.D.,  do  hereby 
disclaim  all  participation  in  the  merits  or  demerits  of  the  numerous 
noisy  and  nonsensical  articles  that  have  from  time  to  time  appeared 
in  this  Magazine.  But  as  the  Public  seem  to  patronize  them,  well 
and  good.  It  is  their  concern,  not  ours.  At  the  same  time,  though 
no  one  has  hitherto  thought  fit  to  mention  our  name — not  even  the 
Editor  in  his  account  of  the  late  shooting  party  on  the  12th  of 
August — we  shall  no  longer  be  induced  to  forego  the  portion  of 
credit  which  really  does  belong  to  us ;  and  which  the  Contributors 
themselves  were  not  very  wise  in  so  long  withholding  from  the  true 
claimant,  seeing  that  they  would  every  one  of  them  be  sorely  averse 
from  taking  it  upon  themselves.  All  the  grave  articles,  then, — (it  is 
quite  needless  to  particularize  them) — which  have  graced  and  are  to 
grace  these  pages — all  which  by  general  consent  have  been  stamped 
with  the  (in  our  opinion  meritorious)  character  of  dullness — were 
contrived  and  constructed  solely  and  exclusively  by  us,  Berzelius 
Pendragon,*  D.D.  We  now  return  to  "  the  even  tenor  of  our 
way," — and  proceed  to  "  labor  in  our  vocation." 

It  has  not  been  our  practice  to  notice  works  whose  chief  attractions 
consist  in  their  pictorial  embellishments ;  but  we  have  been  so  much 
pleased  in  looking  over  these  volumes,  that  we  are  induced  to  make 
them  more  extensively  known  than  they  are  likely  to  be  in  this  part 
of  the  kingdom  without  our  aid. — Among  the  many  richly  illustrated 
works  that  have  of  late  years  evinced  the  enterprise  and  liberality  of 
British  publishers,  perhaps  this  is  at  once  the  most  splendid  and  the 
most  interesting. — Undoubtedly  the  external  character  and  appear- 
ance of  the  English  palaces  have  long  been  the  theme  of  vulgar  sur- 
prise and  contemptuous  comparison,  by  foreigners  visiting  this  coun-  • 

*  The  reader  -will  probably  have  anticipated,  even  if  we  had  not  informed  him,  that  when- 
ever it  is  needful  for  any  written  communication  to  pass  between  us  and  our  coadjutors,  they 
invariably  place  a  hyphen  between  each  syllable  of  our  name — Pen-drag-on.  Thus  trans- 
forming  a  distinguished  patronymic  into  a  despicable  pun — or  rather  a  trinity  of  puns.  Tria 
juncta  in  uno. — ^B.  P. 


1819.]  EOYAL    PALACES.  81 

try ;  and  also  by  those  English  travellers  who  visit  the  continent  (that 
is  to  say,  Paris),  for  the  notable  purpose  of  discovering  and  making 
known  in  what  respects  other  countries  are  superior  to  their  own. 
If  you  tell  these  people  that  London  boasts  the  finest  religious  temple 
in  the  world,  they  answer,  "  But  look  at  St.  James's  Palace,  and  com- 
pare it  with  that  of  the  Tuileries  !"  If  you  point  to  our  Charitable 
Institutions,  unapproached  in  munificence  of  endowment  and  extent 
of  utility  by  those  of  any  other  nation,  they  exclaim,  "  But  then  how 
miserably  inferior  are  Kew  and  Hampton  Court  to  St.  Cloud  and 
Versailles  !"  If  you  prove  to  them  that  the  Custom  House,  the 
East  India  House,  and  the  Bank,  evince  more  wealth  and  public 
spirit  than  could  be  found  among  the  same  class  of  persons  in  all  the 
nations  of  the  continent  united,  they  reply,  "  But  then,  what  a  paltry 
private  residence  for  a  queen  is  the  cottage  at  Frogmore,  compared 
with  the  two  Trianons  !"  It  is  undoubtedly  a  reasonable  subject  of 
surprise,  that,  during  the  last  two  centuries,  so  little  has  been  added 
to  the  external  splendor  of  the  English  palaces ;  but,  as  it  regards  the 
people,  one  should  perhaps  expect  it  to  form  a  subject  of  congratula- 
tion rather  than  regret.  Certain  it  is,  however,  that  the  magnificent 
work  to  which  we  now  call  the  reader's  attention,  fully  proves  that, 
in  the  internal  arrangements  of  the  royal  residences,  there  is  no  lack 
of  splendor  which  should  surround  the  court  and  person  of  the  Eng- 
lish sovereign ;  no  deficiency  of  subjects  calculated  to  awaken  and 
renew  many  of  those  delightful  associations  which  we  are  accustomed 
to  connect  with  times  of  romance  and  chivalry ;  and,  above  all,  no 
want  of  evidence  of  British  sovereigns  having  felt  that  the  walls  of  a 
palace  can  in  no  other  w^ay  be  so  splendidly  and  appropriately  orna- 
mented as  by  the  unfading  works  of  genius  and  taste  :  for  it  is  a  very 
interesting  feature  of  the  illustrations  of  this  work,  that  copies  are 
given  of  all  the  ancient  pictures  which  enrich  the  walls  of  the  differ- 
ent apartments — each  appearing  in  the  relative  situation  which  it  ac- 
tually occupies.  Some  of  these  copies,  though  necessarily  on  a  very 
minute  scale,  are  so  extremely  well  executed  as  immediately  to  recall  to 
the  recollection  of  those  who  are  acquainted  with  them,  the  admirable 
originals.  This  is  peculiarly  the  case  with  respect  to  the  Cartoons, 
which  occupy  the  walls  of  one  of  the  apartments  at  Hampton  Court. 
Mr.  Pyne's  work  consists  of  four  quarto  volumes,  containing  to- 
gether one  hundred  plates,  which  are  all  fac-similes  of  colored  draw- 
ings made  for  the  purpose  by  artists  of  the  very  first  celebrity  ;  each 
drawing  representing,  in  its  present  state,  some  one  apartment  in  one 
or  other  of  the  royal  palaces.  These  drawings  were  executed  by  the 
express  permission,  and  of  many  we  may  say,  under  the  actual 
inspection  of  the  royal  inhabitants  themselves — who  not  only  patron- 
ized, but  really  took  a  personal  interest  in  the  progress  of  the  work  : 
and  it  may  be  not  uninteresting  to  know,  that  the  vignette,  repre- 

4* 


82  CHKISTOPHER   IN   THE   TENT.  [Sept. 

senting  the  hermitage,  in  the  garden  at  Frogmore,  is  copied  from  a 
plate  etched  by  the  Princess  Elizabeth  herself.*  We  have  been 
informed  of  these  particulars  by  the  gentleman  to  whom  we  are 
indebted  for  a  sight  of  this  work  ;  for  we  confess  its  price  has 
rendered  it  quite  inaccessible  to  ourselves.  If  we  were  to  notice  any 
of  the  plates  in  particular,  we  should  point  to  the  exquisite  and 
elaborate  workmanship  of  those  representing  the  splendid  architec- 
tural decorations  of  the  Royal  Chapel  and  St.  George's  Chapel  in 
Windsor  Castle ;  and  the  conservatory  and  gothic  dining-room  at 
Carl  ton-house.  For  magnificence  of  modern  embellishment,  the 
golden  drawing-room  and  alcove,  and  the  crimson  drawing-room  at 
Carl  ton-house,  are  perhaps  not  surpassed  in  any  palace  in  Europe,  f 

We  shall  not  be  expected  to  have  much  to  say  with  respect  to  the 
literary  merits  of  a  work  like  this ;  and  if  we  admit  that  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  materials  appears  to  be  perspicuous,  and  the  style 
tolerably  clear  and  correct,  it  is,  perhaps,  all  that  the  ambition  of  the 
author  would  demand.  We  shall,  however,  fairly  confess,  that  we 
are,  for  once,  reviewing  a  book  that  we  have  not  read  through.  But 
though  it  will  be  easily  admitted  that  this  is  a  work  in  which  pictorial 
embellishment  may  not  improperly  form  the  principal  feature,  yet  on 
turning  over  its  pages,  and  stopping  to  read  here  and  there,  (and  this 
is  all  we  have  had  time  to  do,)  we  find  it  interspersed  with  a  variety 
of  very  amusing  anecdotes  and  circumstances  connected  with  the 
successive  occupiers  of  the  palaces ;  and  also  with  some  interesting 
historical  and  critical  notices  of  some  of  the  principal  works  of  art, 
copies  of  which  pass  in  review  before  us ;  together  with  biographical 
sketches  of  the  distinguished  persons  whose  portraits  are  among  the 
number. 

It  must  not  be  imagined,  by  our  gentle  readers,  that  during  this 
enunciation  we  good  people  in  the  Tent  were  under  any  very  severe 
discipline.  We  are  no  Martinet,  and  are  of  opinion  that,  even  on 
actual  service,  it  is  better  to  command  by  love  than  by  fear.  Ac- 
cordingly, it  was  understood  among  the  Contributors  from  the  very 
first,  that  while  no  man  was  to  be  allowed  loud  laughter  except  the 
Shepherd,  in  respect  to  his  genius  and  infirmity,  an  occasional  titter 
would  be  overlooked  by  the  Editor ;  and  that  even  a  little  whisper- 
ing in  a  corner  would  not  excite  so  much  displeasure  in  his  breast  as 
it  has  been  observed  to  do  in  that  of  my  Lady  Piano  F.  during  the 
performance  Of  a  screeching  solo  at  a  musical  party  in  her  house.  The 
Contributors  kept  going  out  and  coming  in  like  bees,  so  that  a  low, 

*  The  Princess  Elizabeth,  third  daughter  of  George  III.,  horn  1770,  and  married  to  the 
Langrave  of  Hesse  Homberg,  1818.  She  was  very  accomplished,  and  drew  and  etched,  as  well 
as  if  she  had  been  an  artist,— M. 

t  Carlton-House,  long  the  favorite  residence  of  George  IV.,  was  pulled  down  in  1827,  and 
the  pillars  which  formed  the  eiitra-nce  colonnade,  now  are  to  be  seen  in  the  front  facade  of  the 
National  Gallery,  Trafalgar  Square,  I^ondon. — M. 


1819.]  THE    ARTICLES.  83 

pleasant,  continuous  murmur  encircled  the  Tent.     There  was  not 
even  an  ordinance  against  sleep — except  with  a  snore  ;  and  it  is  a 
singular  enough  fact  in  natural  history,  that  those  Contributors  who 
performed  most  pow^erfully  during  the  night,  when  such  indulgence 
was  freely  permitted  to  us  all,  took  snatches  of  slumber  during  an 
article  as  silently  as  so  many  dormice.     This  is  one  of  many  proofs 
of  the  power  of  the  will  over  the  functions  of  the  bodily  organs  in 
sleep.     We  must  all  remember  how,  during  the  course  of  our  travels, 
we  used  to  awake,  to  a  minute,  at  an  hour  fixed  mentally  with  our- 
selves before  going  to  bed ;  and,  on  the  present  occasion,  we  could 
not  help  smiling,  to  see  with  what  supernatural  accuracy  Timothy 
Tickler  would  awake  at  the  conclusion  of  any  article  at  which  he  had 
taken  an  alarm,  and  avoided  by  a  skilful  and  well-timed  nap.     Was  it 
that  he  first  conjectured  its  probable  duration,  and  then,  by  an  act  of 
the  sleeping  yet  waking  wall,  awoke  just  as  it  ceased  1     Or  may  the 
phenomenon  be  accounted  for  on   a  simpler  theory,  namely,  that 
Tickler  awoke  as  the  Editor  or  Buller,  for  example,  ceased  to  speak, 
just  as  we  have  heard  of  naval  officers  starting  up  in  their  hammocks, 
awakened  by  the  unusual  silence,  when  the  morning-gun  did  not  fire  ? 
Owing  to  the  relief  given  to  the  mind  by  little  interruptions  and 
incidents  of  this  kind,  we  suspect  that  the  articles  of  our  Contributors 
seemed  much  better  ones  when  we  read  aloud  in  the  tent,  than  they 
may  do  w^hen  perused  in  a  brown  study,  or  the  Glasgow  coffee-room ; 
but  this  is  a  disadvantage  to  which  all  viva-voce  harangues  are  liable 
in  tent,  in  church,  and  in  state.     Even  one  of  Dr.  Chalmers'  astrono- 
mical discourses,  which  we  heard  him  preach  before  the  Commis- 
sioner, seemed  to  us  more  sublime  when  volleyed  by  his  thunderous 
voice  through  those  Gothic  arches,  than  when  looked  at  silently  in 
our  own  little  blue  parlor,  with  out  feet  on  the  fender,  and  our 
worthy  housekeeper  (but  that  way  madness  lies)  knitting  a  worsted 
stocking  for  our  rheumatic  ]eg,  sufficiently  long  to  reach  halfway  up 
the  thigh.     In  like  manner,  we  remember  reading,  with  scarce  any 
emotion  but  a  slight  one  of  contempt,  a  speech  of  Mr.  Tierney*  in  a 
newspaper,  which  w^e  were  told  by  Odoherty  convulsed  with  laughter 
the  whole  House.     In  like  manner,  a  joke  of  Mr.  Cockburn's  will,  in 
the  General  Assembly  of  our  Church,  well  nigh  shake  the  wigs  from 
the  heads  of  hundreds,  which,   when  confidentially  communicated 
afterwards  by  one  of  his  admirers  to  some  unfortunate  gentlemaii 
not  present  at  its  first  delivery,  would  seem  to  have  been  still-born. 

*  George  Tierney  entered  Parliament  in  1796,  and  became  a  strong  opponent  of  Mr.  Pitt, 
with  -whom  he  fought  a  duel  in  1798.  The  Addington  Cabinet  of  180-2,  made  him  Treasurer 
of  the  Navy,  and  in  1806,  he  was  President  of  the  Board  of  Control,  but  went  out  the  next 
year,  when  the  Granville  ministry  resigned.  He  was  one  of  the  leaders  of  the  Opposition 
until  1827,  when  he  was  made  Master  of  the  Mint,  under  Canning,  remained  in  office  under 
Lord  Goderich,  with  whom  he  retired  in  1828,  and  died  in  1830.  He  was  a  very  heavy  debator, 
and  was  ridiculed  as  such,  in  The  New  Whig  Guide,  published  1819,  and  written  by 
Palmerston,  Peel,  and  J.  W.  Croker.— M. 


84:  CHRISTOPHER   IN   THE   TENT.  [Sept. 

The  truth  is,  that  as  it  was  necessary  to  have  been  in  the  High 
Church,  the  House  of  Commons,  or  the  General  Assembly,  fully  to 
feel  and  admire  the  eloquence  of  Chalmers,  the  wit  of  Tierney,  or  the 
humor  of  Cockburn — so  was  it  necessary  to  have  been  in  our  Tent, 
to  enjoy,  with  perfect  enjoyment,  the  eloquence  of  a  Kempferhausen, 
the  wit  of  a  Tickler,  or  the  humor  of  a  Pendragon. 

After  the  last  gentleman's  article,  we  were  not  without  hopes  that 
our  dear  friend  Dr.  Morris  would  have  favored  us  with  something 
good ;  but  Peter  let  us  understand  that  we  must  not  expect  any 
article  from  him  for  some  months,  as  he  was  busy  on  his  "  Letters 
from  the  Highlands  of  Scotland,"  which  he  hoped  to  have  out  early 
in  spring.*  Nobody  who  has  not  seen  the  Doctor  write,  can  have 
the  slightest  idea  of  the  rapidity  of  his  intellectual  and  manual  opera- 
tions ;  and  he  now  lifted  up  and  fluttered  before  our  eyes  at  least  a 
hundred  pages  of  closely-written  MSS.,  exclaiming, — "  Nearly  half 
of  the  first  volume,  you  dog.  When  Scotland  is  finished,  then  '  for 
England,  ho  !'" 

It  was  now  wearing  pretty  far  into  the  afternoon,  and  the  Editor's 
travelling  china  punch-bowl,  Hogg's  jug,  and  the  quechs  of  the  other 
Contributors,  had,  as  our  readers  will  readily  suppose,  been  plenished 
and  replenished  oftener,  perhaps,  than  it  is  needful  to  avow.  There 
could  have  been  no  getting  on  without  this  ;  for  joy  is  every  whit  as 
dry  as  sorrow,  and  the  tongues  of  the  Contributors  would  have 
cloven  to  the  roofs  of  their  mouths  without  a  judicious  and  well- 
timed  infusion  of  the  true  spirit.  We  were  just  in  the  act  of  propos- 
ing a  bumper  to  the  health  of  that  most  entertaining  of  all  human 
beings,  Mr.  John  Ballantyne,  who  had  gone  out  to  breathe  the  frag- 
rance of  the  heather,  and  to  hear  John  of  Sky 

"  His  Scottish  tunes  and  wavlike  marches  play," 

when  that  gentleman  himself  put  his  facetious  face  in  at  the  Tent- 
door;  and  with  an  expression  of  the  most  profound  and  solemn 
respect  strangely  blended  with  its  natural  and  invincible  archness,  he 
exclaimed,  in  considerable  agitation,  "  By  the  author  of  Waverley, 
and  every  other  great  Known  or  Unknown,  here  is  Dr.  Mansel,  the 
bishop  of  Bristol.  I  have  been  with  him  for  this  half-hour — such 
another  famous  bishop  saw  I  never  at  home  or  abroad.  Put  in  a 
jaup  mair  rum  into  the  bit  bowlie,  for  by  his  talk  I  warrant  him  a 
dreigh  sooker.  That'll  do — rise  up,  gentlemen,  while  I  fetch  in  the 
bishop." 

We  were  all  thrown  into  some  consternation  by  this  unexpected 
visit  from  so  high  a  dignitary  of  the  Episcopalian  Church,  and  every 
lidless  eye  was  bent  towards  the  Tent-door,  when  once  more  came 

*  Announced,  but  never  published, — probably  never  -written. — M. 


1819.]  SCOTT,    THE   ODONTIST.  85 

bowing  in,  hat  in  hand,  our  small  incomparable  Bibliopole,  ushering 
forward,  in  full  sail,  and  gorgeous  array,  not  Dr.  Mansel,  bishop  of 
Bristol — but  hear  it,  O  Dee,  and  give  ear,  thou  Clyde — Dr.  Scott, 
THE  CELEBRATED  Odontist  OF  Glasgow.  One  Toar  of  unextinguished 
laughter  shook  the  Tent — while  that  wittiest  of  doctors  looked 
towards  that  wittiest  of  bibliopoles  with  a  countenance  of  the  most 
solemn  assurance,  and  pompously  asked,  "  What  sort  of  treatment 
is  this  for  a  Bishop  V 

John  Ballantyne  had  never  before  seen  Dr.  Scott,  and  he  now 
kept  his  small  gray  piercing  eyes  suspiciously  upon  him,  as  the  veil 
of  clerical  mystery  seemed  to  be  falling  off  from  the  shoulders  of  the 
self-appointed  spiritual  peer.  "  Me  a  Bishop,"  cried  the  exulting  Doc- 
tor, '•  1  was  only  gagging  you^  man  !  Ye  nae  sooner  tald  me  your 
name,  than  I  said  into  myself — hooly,  hooly,  we  hae  gotten  here  the 
wuttiest  and  gleggest  wee  chield  in  a'  Edinburgh,  and  gin  I  can  but 
gagg  Mr.  John  Ballantyne,  what  will  Carnegie  and  Pro  van,  and  a' 
the  ither  clever  fallows  in  Glasgow,  think  o'  me  then  V  The 
Doctor's  classical  and  theological  imagination  had,  it  seems,  sug- 
gested to  him  the  idea  of  personating  the  Bishop  of  Bristol ;  and 
during  half  an  hour's  conversation  with  Mr.  Ballantyne,  he  had  more 
than  half  concluded  a  bargain  for  the  copyright  of  a  volume  of 
Sermons,  in  which  the  Socinian  controversy  was  for  ever  to  be  laid 
at  rest  on  both  sides  of  the  Tweed. 

But  how  came  Dr.  Scott  to  be  hereabouts  at  all  1  Had  he  not 
departed  in  the  morning  for  Glasgow,  or,  to  call  that  thriving  city 
by  the  more  rural  appellation  bestowed  on  it  by  its  poetical  inhabit- 
ants, "  The  West-Country  f  No  such  thing.  The  Doctor  had  been  the 
gay  deceiver  of  us  all.  At  the  very  moment  when  his  soul  seemed  to 
be  breathing  out  sighs  of  scarcely  articulate  grief  at  the  Parting  Hour, 
and  had  responded  so  passionately  to  the  L'Envoy  of  the  inspired 
Shepherd,  even  then,  had  he  meditated  no  farther  journey  than  down 
to  Mar-Lodge  to  give  some  medical  advice  to  the  Thane,*  of  whose 
arrival  there  he  had  been  confidentially  informed  by  an  express  the 
night  before ;  and  it  was  on  his  return  to  the  Tent  that  he  had  fallen 
in  with  Mr.  Ballantyne,  whom  curiosity  had  drawn  towards  a  cottage 
on  the  river's  side,  from  the  door  of  which  the  Doctor  said  a  beautiful 
Highland  girl  was  "  showering  her  delightful  smiles."  Such  were 
the  ipsissima  verba  of  the  Odontist.  "  Why,  Doctor,"  said  the 
Shepherd,  "  you  are  as  bad  as  my  freen.  Lord  Byron,  himsel,  and  it 
seems  ye  were  just  lauching  in  your  sleeve  a^  the  time  you  were 
say  in'  gude  day  to  me  and  the  ither  Contributors,  just  as  he  was 
lauchin'  in  his,  when  he  said, 

•  The  Earl  of  Fife  claims  to  be  a  lineal  descendant  of  the  Thane  of  Fife  mentioned  in 
"  Macbeth,"  but  his  pretensions  have  been  challenged  by  genealogists  and  antiquarians. — M. 


86  CHEISTOPHEE   IN   THE   TENT.  [Sept. 

'  Fare  thee  well,  and  if  for  ever, 
Still  for  ever,  fare  thee  well.' 

Faith,  Doctor,  ye  great  poets,  the  Scotts  and  the  Byrons,  and  sic 
like,  are  a'  thegither  past  my  comprehension."  Mr.  John  Ballantyne 
frankly  confessed  that  he  had,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  been  fairly 
gagged.  "  But,"  said  he,  "  I  shall  have  my  revenge.  Henceforth, 
gentlemen,  let  you  and  all  the  rest  of  the  world  combine  to  call  Dr. 
Scott  The  Bishop  of  Bristol."  This  motion  was  immediately 
carried  by  acclamation,  and  the  Bibliopole  and  the  Bishop  shook 
hands,  and  sat  down  on  the  whisky  cask,  Buller  having  vacated  his 
seat  by  accepting  the  chirper's  hamper. 

Order  having  been  restored,  and  the  Bishop  having  bestowed  his 
benediction  on  us,  and  a  bumper  on  himself,  we  took  the  earliest 
opportunity  of  requesting  from  him  a  small  article ;  and  as  he  had 
nothing  to  offer  in  opposition  to  so  equitable  a  request,  he  asked, 
'-  Verse  or  prose  V  "  Verse,  to  be  sure."  "  Long  or  short  metre." 
"  Oh !  long,  certainly — one  would  never  think  of  getting  short  measure 
from  a  Bishop."  The  Peer  accordingly  cleared  his  pipes,  and 
chanted,  with  a  tone  and  manner  of  gesticulation  which  at  one  time 
strongly  reminded  us  of  Wordsworth,  and  at  another  of  Rowland 
Hill,*  the  following  very  beautiful  Poem  : 

love's  phantoms  of  woe. 
1. 
Day's  gone  down  in  the  west ;  yet  his  last  tinge  of  gold 
Is  not  all  from  the  chimneys  of  Anderstoun  rolled — 
And  already,  far  eastward,  the  meek  orb  of  Dian 
With  a  pale  struggling  lustre  the  Calton  is  eyeing ; 
The  Stockwell  and  the  Gallowgate  slumber  between, 
And  the  brown  Molindinar  is  flowing  unseen. 

2. 

While  the  hour's  holy  stillness  reigns  sad  in  the  soul. 
Oh !  'lis  sweet  with  slow  steps  up  the  Trongate  to  stroll, 
For  the  long  sleeping  shadows  of  steeple  and  land 
Sink  deep  in  the  spirit  with  harmony  bland  ; 
And  well  does  my  sensitive  heart  sympathize 
With  the  hum  of  the  air  and  the  gloom  of  the  skies. 

3. 
Man  may  sigh  when  earth  laughs  in  the  rays  of  the  sun 
O'er  the  dreams  of  ambition  whose  race  hath  been  run  ; 
Man  may  weep  when  the  morn  in  her  glory  comes  forth 
O'er  the  parted  memorials  of  friendship  and  worth ; 
But  be  mine  in  the  dimness  of  twilight  to  rove. 
When  I  charm  up  the  long-faded  Phantoms  of  Love. 

*  The  Rev.  Rowland  Hill,  minister  of  Surrey  Chapel,  London,  for  half  a  century,  was  m 
high  feather  in  1819.  He  was  noted  for  eccentricities,  illustrating  the  most  solemn  truths  by 
observations  which  savored  more  of  the  ludicrous  than  the  pathetic, — more  of  the  grotesque 
than  the  serious.  He  was  uncle  to  Lord  Hill,  Commander-in-chief  of  the  British  army  from 
1828  to  1842.    The  Rev.  Rowland  Hill  was  eighty-eight,  at  his  death,  in  1838.— M. 


1819.]  "the   phantoms    OF  LOVE."  87 


Oh  !  vainly  and  wildly  the  world's  eye  would  seek, 
When  the  forehead  is  sn:ooth  and  a  smile's  on  the  cheek, 
The  wide  wildering  waves  of  reflection  to  sound, 
Where  the  soul  sleeps  beneath  in  her  darkness  profound— 
Where  sorrow,  like  truth,  is  contented  to  dwell 
Cold,  clear,  and  unseen,  in  the  spirit's  deep  well. 


Yet  not  false  is  the  language  that  floats  from  my  tongue, 
When  I  joke  with  the  joyous,  and  laugh  with  the  young ; 
There  is  naught  of  deceit  in  this  eye  sparkling  bright, 
All  cordial  the  chorus  of  festive  delight — 
All  sincere  and  substantial  the  raptures  I  show. 
When  Wit's  rays  bid  the  ether  of  merriment  glow. 

6. 
Were  it  wise — were  it  well — to  refuse  to  mankind 
The  light  of  the  spirit — the  sun  of  the  mind? 
Were  it  wise,  wrapt  for  ever  in  garments  of  woe, 
Through  the  world's  busy  paths  like  a  spectre  to  go  ? 
Oh,  no  !  life  has  moments  for  more  things  than  one, 
Man's  great  soul  can  find  room  both  for  sorrow  and  fun ! 

1. 
I  have  left  the  dim  Trongate,  and  climbed  the  high  stair, 
Where  the  Horns  are  hung  out  as  the  Sign  of  the  Fair ; 
I  have  entered  the  centre  and  shrine  of  delight. 
Where  around  Peggy's  bowl  my  friends'  faces  are  bright. 
And  shall  I  be  in  dumps,  and  a  damper  ?  oh,  no  ! 
Drown,  ye  bumpers  of  friendship,  Love's  Phantoms  of  Woe ! 


Though  the  mystical  musings  that  feed  the  lone  mind, 

Leave  a  gentle  and  mellowing  softness  behind  ; 

Though  the  eye  that  with  joy  should  all  radiant  appear, 

Still  reveal  thy  faint  trace — Sensibility's  tear ! 

Oh,  forget  it,  my  friends,  and  reproach  me  not  so, 

For  I'll  drown  in  deep  bumpers — Love's  Phantoms  of  Woe  ! 

The  lay  of  the  first  Bishop  was  received  with  high  applause,  and 
as  the  toils  of  the  day  were  now  near  a  close,  the  Editor  with  his 
Contributors  ■  were  about  to  leave  the  Tent  for  an  evening  walk 
along  the  Dee  and  its  "  bonny  banks  of  blooming  heather,"  to  indulge 
the  most  delightful  of  all  feelings,  such,  namely,  as  arise  from  the 
consciousness  of  having  passed  our  time  in  a  way  not  only  agreeable 
to  ourselves,  but  useful  to  the  whole  of  the  wide-spread  family  of 
man,  when  John  Mackay  came  bouncing  in-  upon  us  like  a  grasshop- 
per, "  Gots  my  life  here  are  twa  unco  landloupers  cumin  dirdin 
down  the  hill — the  tane  o'  them  a  heech  knock-kneed  stravaiger 
wi'   the    breeks    on,    and    the    tither     ane   o'    the   women-folk,   as 


88  CHKISTOPHER   IN  THE   TENT.  [S^pt. 

roun's  she  lang,  in  a  green  Joseph,  and  a  tappen  o'  feathers  on  her 
pow." 

At  the  word  "women-folk,"  each  Contributor 

"  Sprang  upwards  like  a  pyramid  of  fire ;" 

and  we  had  some  difficulty  in  preventing  a  sally  from  the  Tent. 
"Remember,  gentlemen,"  quoth  we,  "that  you  are  still  under  lite- 
rary law — be  seated."  We  ourselves,  as  master  of  the  ceremonies, 
went  out,  and  lo  !  we  beheld  two  most  extraordinary  Itinerants. 

The  gentleman  who  was  dressed  in  brown-once-black,  had  a  sort  of 
medico-theological  exterior— which  we  afterwards  found  to  be  repre- 
sentative of  the  inward  man.  He  was  very  tall,  and  in-kneed* — in- . 
deed,  somewhat  like  Richmond  the  blackf  about  the  legs — the  squint 
of  his  albino  eyes  was  far  from  prepossessing — and  stray  tufts  of  his 
own  white  hair,  here  and  there  stole  lankly  down  from  beneath  the 
up-curled  edge  of  a  brown  caxon  that  crowned  the  apex  of  his  organi- 
zation.  He  seemed  to  have  lost  the  roof  of  his  mouth,  and  when  he 
said  to  us,  "  You  see  before  you  Dr.  Magnus  Oglethorpe,  itinerant 
lecturer  on  poetry,  politics,  oratory,  and  the  belles  lettres,"  at  each 
word,  his  tongue  came  away  from  the  locum-tenens  of  his  palate, 
with  a  bang,  like  a  piece  of  wet  leather  from  a  stone  (called,  by  our 
Scottish  children,  "sookers,"  we  forget  the  English  name),  each  syl- 
lable, indeed,  standing  quite  per  se,  and  not  without  difficulty  to  be 
drilled  into  companies  or  sentences.  But  we  are  forgetting  the  lady. 
She  was  a  short,  fat,  "  dumpy  woman" — quite  a  bundle  of  a  bod}^,  as 
one  may  say — with  smooth  red  cheeks,  and  little  twinking  roguish 
eyes ; — and  when  she  returned  our  greeting,  we  were  sensible  of  a 
slight  accent  of  Erin,  which,  we  confess,  up  in  life  as  we  are,  falls  on 
the  drum  of  our  ear 

"  That's  like  a  melody  sweetly  played  in  tune." 

She  was,  as  John  Mackay  had  at  some  distance  discovered,  in  a 
green  riding-habit,  not,  perhaps,  much  the  worse,  but  certainly  much 
the  smoother  for  wear, — and  while  her  neat- turned  ankles  exhibited  a 
pair  of  yellow  laced  boots  which  nearly  reached  the  calf  of  her  leg, 
on  her  head  waved  elegantly  a  plume  of  light-blue  ostrich  feathers. 
The  colors  altogether,  both  those  of  nature  and  of  art,  were  splendid 
and  harmonious,  and  the  Shepherd,  whose  honest  face  we  by  chance 
saw  (contrary  to  orders)  peeping  through  a  little  chink  of  the  Tent, 
whispered,  "Losh  a  day,  gin  there  binna  the  queen  o'  the  Fairies  !"$ 
We  requested  the  matchless  pair  to  walk  in — but  Dr.  Magnus,  who 

*  It  was  upon  this  gentleman  that  the  celebrated  punster  of  the  West  made  that  famous 
pun,  "  the  Battle  of  the  Pyrenees — (the  pair  o'  knees.)" — C.  N. 

t  Richmond,  the  black,  was  a  pugilist  in  those  days. — M. 

i  Wherever  the  belief  in  fairies  exists,  there  also  is  the  belief,  that  green  is  their  favorite 
color.  In  some  of  the  country  districts  of  Scotland  and  Ireland,  it  is  considered  unlucky  (or 
uncannie)  to  have  even  a  green  lash  to  your  riding- whip. — M. 


1819.]  ODOHEETY    AND   THE    WIDOW.  89 

was  rather  dusty,  first  got  John  Mackay  to  switch  him,  behind  and 
before,  with  a  bunch  of  long  heather,  and  we  ourselves  performed  the 
same  office,  with  the  greatest  delicacy  to  the  lad}^  The  improvement 
on  both  was  most  striking  and  instantaneous.  The  Doctor  looked 
quite  fresh  and  ready  for  a  lecture, — while  the  lady  reminded  us,  so 
sleek,  smooth,  and  beautiful  did  she  appear,  of  a  hen  after  any  little 
ruffling  incident  in  a  barn-yard.  We  three  entered  the  tent — "  Con- 
tributors !  Dr.  Magnus  Oglethorpe  and  Lady  on  a  lecturing  tour 
through  the  Highlands."  In  a  moment  twenty  voices  entreated  the 
lady  to  be  seated — Dr.  Morris  offered  her  a  seat  on  his  bed,  which, 
being  folded  up,  he  now  used  as  a  chair  or  sofa — Wastle  bowed  to 
the  antique  carved  oak  arm-chair  that  had  been  sent  from  Mar-Lodge 
by  the  Thane — Tickler  was  lifting  up  from  the  ground  an  empty 
hamper  to  reach  it  across  the  table  for  her  accommodation — Duller 
was  ready  with  the  top  or  bottom  of  the  whisky  cask,  and  we  our- 
selves insisted  upon  getting  the  honor  of  the  fair  burden  to  the  Con- 
tributor's box.  Seward  kept  looking  at  her  through  his  quizzing 
glass — "  Deuced  fine  wumman,  by  St.  Jericho  !  demme  if  she  b'nt  a 
fac-simile  of  Mary  Ann  Clarke,*  only  summat  deeper  in  the  fore-end 
— one  of  old  Anacreon's  /Sa^uxoX-jroi."  Her  curtsey  was  exceedingly 
graceful — when,  all  of  a  sudden,  casting  her  eyes  on  the  Standard- 
bearer,  who,  contrary  to  his  usual  amenity  towards  the  sex,  stood 
sour  and  silent  in  a  corner,  she  exclaimed,  "  By  the  powers,  my  own 
swate  Morgan  Odoherty,"  and  jumping  up  upon  the  table,  she  nimbly 
picked  her  steps  among  jugs,  glasses,  and  quechs  (upsetting  alone 
Kempferhausen's  ink-horn  over  an  ode  to  the  moon),  and  in  a  mo- 
ment was  in  the  Adjutant's  arms.f  Mrs.  M'Whirter,  the  fair  Irish 
widow  whom  the  Ensign  had  loved  in  Philadelphia,  stood  confessed. 
There  clung  she,  like  a  mole,  with  her  little  paws  to  the  Standard- 
bearer's  sides — striving  in  vain  to  reach  those  beguiling  lips,  which 
he  kept  somewhat  haughtily  elevated  about  six  feet  three  inches  from 
the  ground,  leaving  an  unscalable  height  of  at  least  a  yard  between 
them  and  the  mouth  of  the  much  flustered,  deeply  injured  Mrs. 
M'Whirter.  The  widow,  whose  elegant  taste  is  well  known  to  the 
readers  of  this  Magazine,  exclaimed,  in  the  words  of  Bettyl  (so  she 
called  him), 

"  Ah  !  who  can  tell  how  hard  it  is  to  climb 
The  steep  where  love's  proud  temple  shines  afar  1" 

*Mrs.  Mary  Ann  Clarke,  once  the  mistress  of  the  Duke  of  York.  From  this  connexion 
arose  a  parliamentary  investigation,  in  1S09,  on  a  charge  that  he  allowed  her  to  dispose  of  his 
patronage  for  money,  which  showed  him  guilty  of  great  carelessness,  at  least.  On  this  he 
resigned  the  command  of  the  army,  which  he  subsequently  resumed. — M. 

t  To  tmderstand  this  it  must  be  explained,  that  a  former  Blackwood,  givin"-  a  memoir  of 
Odoherty,  stated,  that  when  a  prisoner  of  war  in  Philadelphia,  in  1815,  he  there  had  married,  and 
soon  after  deserted,  an  Irish  widow  named  M'Whirter,  who  kept  the  "  Goat  in  Armor"  tavern, 
in  that  city  of  brotherly-love. — M. 

%  Dr.  James  Beattie,  author  of  several  philosophical  works,  and  the  poem  called  The  Min- 
strel.   He  died  in  1803.— M, 


90  CETRISTOPHER   IN"   THE   TENT.  [Sept. 

"Never  mind  the  money — my  clearest  Morgan — Och  !  I  have  never 
known  such  another  man  as  your  sweet  self  since  we  parted  at  Phil- 
adelphia." The  Adjutant  looked  as  if  he  had  neither  lost  nor  won — 
still  gently  but  determinedly  repelling  the  advances  of  the  warm- 
hearted widow,  whose  face  he  thus  kept,  as  it  were,  at  arm's  length. 
At  last,  with  a  countenance  of  imperturbable  solemnity,  worthy  of  a 
native  of  Ireland  and  a  Contributor  to  this  Magazine,  he  coolly  said, 
"Why,  Mr.  Editor,  the  trick  is  a  devilish  good  one,  very  well  played, 
and  knowingly  kept  up — but  now  that  you,  gentlemen,  have  all  had 
your  laugh  against  Odoherty,  pray,  Mrs.  Roundabout  Fat-ribs,  may 
I  ask  when  you  were  last  hateing  hetnp^  and  in  what  house  of  correc- 
tion !"  "Och — you  vile  sadducee." — "I  suspect,"  said  Tickler, 
"  that  you  yourself,  my  fair  Mrs.  M' Whirter,  were  the  seducee,  and 
the  ensign  the  seducer."  "  Why  look  ye,"  continued  Odoherty,  "  if 
you  are  Molly  M' Whirter,  formerly  of  Philadelphia,  you  have  the 
mark  of  a  murphy  (Hibernice  potato)  on  your  right  side,  just  below 
the  fifth  rib — and  of  a  shamrock,  or,  as  these  English  gentlemen 
would  call  it,  a  trefoil,  between  your  shoulders  behind,  about  half 
way  down," Here  Mrs.  M'Whirter  lost  all  temper — and  ap- 
pealed to  Dr.  Magnus  Oglethorpe,  if  Odoherty  was  not  casting  foul 
aspersions  on  her  character.  The  doctor  commenced  an  oration,  with 
that  extraordinary  sort  of  utterance  already  hinted  at,  which  quite 
upset  the  Adjutant's  gravity — and  the  lady  now  seizing  the  "tempora 
mollia  fandi,"  said,  with  a  bewitching  smile,  "  Come  now,  my  dearest 
Morgan,  confess,  confess  !"  The  Standard-bearer  was  overcome — 
and,  kissing  his  old  friend's  cheek  in  the  most  respectful  manner,  he 
said,  "I  presume  Mrs.  M'Whirter  is  no  more,  and  that  I  see  before 
me  the  lady  of  Dr.  Magnus  Oglethorpe — in  other  words,  Mrs.  Dr. 
Oglethorpe."  "Yes,  Morgan,  he  is  indeed  my  husband — come 
hither,  Magnus,  and  shake  hands  with  the  Adjutant — this  is  the  Mr. 
Odoherty,  of  whom  you  have  heard  me  so  often  spake."  Nothing 
could  be  more  delightful  than  this  reconciliation.  We  again  all  took 
our  seats — Dr.  Magnus  on  our  own  left  hand,  and  Mrs.  Dr.  Magnus 
on  our  right,  close  to  whom  sat  and  smiled,  like  another  Mars,  the 
invincible  Standard-bearer.  It  was  a  high  gratification  to  us  now  to 
find  that  Odoherty  and  Mrs.  M'Whirter  had  never  been  united  in 
matrimony.  It  was  true  that  in  America  they  had  been  tenderly  at- 
tached to  each  other,  but  peculiar  circumstances,  some  of  which  are 
alluded  to  in  a  memoir  of  the  Adjutant's  life  in  a  former  number  of 
this  Magazine,*  had  prevented  their  union,  and  soon  after  his  return 

*  The  article  in  question  somewhat  libelled  the  Hibernian  widow,  for  it  distinctly  averred 
that  Odoherty  had  married  her,  and  made  her,  in  her  anger  at  his  desertion,  perpetrate  sundry 
wrathful  verses  to  him,  which  end  thus  : — 

"  When  you've  drunk  my  gin,  and  robbed  my  till,  and  stolen  all  my  pelf,  ye 
Sail  away,  and  think  no  more  on  your  wife  at  Philadelphy." 
But  this  belongs  rather  to  the  Life  of  Odoherty,  in  Dr.  Magfnn's  Works,  than  to  THE  Tent, 
and  the  sayings  and  doings  therein. — M 


1819.]  DK.   MAGNUS   OGLETHOEPE.  &1 

to  Europe,  the  M' Whirter  had  bestowed  her  hand  on  a  faithful  suitor, 
whom  she  had  formerly  rejected.  Dr.  Magnus  Oglethorpe,  lecturer 
on  poetry,  politics,  oratory,  &c.,  a  gentleman  famous  for  removing  im- 
pediments in  the  organs  of  speech,  and  who,  after  having  instructed 
in  public  speaking  some  of  the  most  distinguished  orators  in  the 
House  of  Representatives,  United  States,  had  lately  come  over  to 
Britain,  to  retard,  by  his  precepts  and  his  practice,  the  decline  and 
■fall  of  eloquence  in  our  Island.  As  we  complimented  th«  doctor  on 
the  magnificent  object  of  his  pedestrian  tour,  he  volunteered  a  lecture 
on  the  spot,  and  in  an  instant — and  springing  up  as  nimbly  upon  the 
table  as  Sir  Francis  Burdett  or  Mr.  John  Hobhouse*  could  have 
done,  the  American  Demosthenes  (who  seemed  still  to  have  pebbles 
in  his  mouth,  though  far  inland),  thus  opened  it,f  and  spake  a 

LECTURE    ON   WHIGGISM. 

Ladies  and  Gentlemen — Fear  is  "  Wbiggism  " — hatred  is  "  Whiggism  " — con- 
tempt, jealousy,  remorse,  wonder,  despair,  or  madness,  are  all  "  Whiggism." 

The  miser  when  he  hugs  his  gold-^the  savage  who  paiots  his  idol  with  blood — 
the  slave  who  worships  a  tyrant,  or  the  tyrant  who  fancies  himself  a  god — the 
vain,  the  ambitious,  the  proud,  the  choleric  man — the  coward,  the  beggar,  all  are 
"  Whigs." 

"  The  'Whig,'  the  lover,  and  the  poet. 
Are  of  imaginatioifi  all  compact. 
One  sees  more  devils  than  vast  hell  can  hold — ' 
The  madman." 

"  Whiggism  "  is  strictly  the  language  of  imagination  ;  and  the  imagination  is 
that  faculty  which  represents  objects,  not  as  they  are  in  themselves,  but  as  they 
are  moulded,  by  other  thoughts  and  feelings,  into  an  infinite  variety  of  shapes  and 
combinations  of  power.  This  language  is  not  the  less  true  to  nature,  because  it  is 
false  in  point  of  fact ;  but  so  much  the  more  true  and  natural,  if  it  conveys  the 
impression  which  the  object  under  the  influence  of  passion  makes  on  the  mind. 
Let  an  object,  for  instance,  be  presented  in  a  state  of  agitation  or  fear,  and  the 
imagination  will  distort  or  magnify  the  object,  and  convert  it  into  the  likeness 
of  whatever  is  most  proper  to  encourage  the  fear. 

Tragic  "  Whiggism,"  which  is  the  most  empassioned  species  of  it,  strives  to 
carry  on  the  feeling  to  the  utmost  point,  by  all  the  force  of  comparison  or  contrast 
— loses  the  sense  of  present  suffering  in  the  imaginary  exaggerations  of  it — ex- 
hausts the  terror  of  an  unlimited  indulgence  of  it — grapples  with  impossibilities 
in  its  desperate  iynpatience  of  restraint. 

When  Lear  says  of  Edgar,  nothing  but  the  unkind  "  ministry "  could  have 
brought  him  to  this — what  a  bewildered  amazement,  what  a  wrench  of  the  imagi- 
nation, that  cannot  be  brought  to  conceive  of  any  other  cause  of  misery  than  that 
winch  has  bowed  it  down,  and  absorbs  all  other  sorrow  in  its  own !  His  sorrow, 
like  a  flood,  supplies  the  sources  of  all  other  sorrow. 

In  regard  to  a  certain  Whig,  of  the  unicorn  species,  we  may  say — How  his 

*  Sir  Francis  Burdett  and  Mr.  Hobhouse  were  ultra-liberals  in  1S19.  Burdett  lapsed  into 
ultra-toryism  in  1836,  in  which  he  remained  until  his  death,  in  1S44.  Hobhouse  succeeded 
to  a  baronetcy  on  his  father's  death,  successively  took  office  under  Grey,  Melbourne,  and  Rus- 
sell, and  Was  made  a  Peer  in  1851,  by  the  title  of  Lord  Broughton.— M. 

t  The  expression,  ^'' Thus  opened  his  mouth,''''  is  incorrect,  for  without  a  plate  it  would  be 
impossible  to  show  the  manner  in  which  Dr.  Magnus  opened  his  mouth. — C.  N. 


92  CHRISTOPHER  IN  THE  TENT.  [Sept. 

passion  laslies  itself  up,  aad  swells  and  rages  like  a  tide  in  its  sounding  course, 
when,  in  answer  to  the  doubts  expressed  of  his  returning  "  temper,"  he  says — 

"  Never  lago.     Like  to  the  Pontic  Sea, 
Whose  icy  current  and  compulsive  course 
Ne'er  feels  retiring  ebb,  but  keeps  due  on 
To  the  Propontic  and  the  Hellespont ; 
Even  so  my  '  frantic'  thoughts,  with  violent  pace, 
Shall  ne'er  look  back,  ne'er  ebb  to  humible  '  sense,' 
Till  that  a  capable  and  wide  revenge 
Swallow  them  up." 

The  pleasure,  however,  derived  from  tragic  "  Whiggism,"  is  not  any  thing 
peculiar  to  it  as  Whiggism,  as  a  fictitious  and  fanciful  thing.  It  is  not  an  anomaly 
of  the  imagination.  It  has  its  source  and  ground-work  in  the  common  love  of 
*'  power  "  and  strong  excitement.  As  Mr.  Burke  observes,  people  flock  to  "  Whig 
meetings ;"  but  if  there  were  a  public  execution  in  the  next  street,  the  "  house  " 
would  very  soon  be  empty.  It  is  not  the  difference  between  fiction  and  reality 
that  solves  the  difficulty.  Children  are  satisfied  with  stories  of  ghosts  and  witches. 
The  grave  politician  drives  a  thriving  trade  of  abuse  and  calumnies,  poured  out 
against  those  whom  he  makes  his  enemies  for  no  other  end  than  that  he  may  live 
by  them.  The  popular  preacher  makes  less  frequent  mention  of  heaven  than  of 
hell.  Oaths  and  nicknames  are  only  a  more  vulgar  sort  of  "  Whiggism."  We* 
are  as  fond  of  indulging  our  violent  passions  as  of  reading  a  description  of  those 
of  others.  We  are  as  prone  to  make  a  torment  of  our  fears  as  to  luxuriate  in  our 
hopes  of  "  mischief."  The  love  of  power  is  as  strong  a  principle  in  the  mind  as 
the  love  of  pleasure.  It  is  as  natural  to  hate  as  to  love,  to  despise  as  to  admire, 
to  express  our  hatred  or  contempt  as  our  love  of  admiration. 

"  Masterless  passion  sways  us  to  the  mood 
Of  what  it  likes  or  loathes." 

Not  that  we  like  what  we  loathe,  but  we  like  to  indulge  our  hatred  and  scorn 
of  it  (viz.  Toryism) — to  dwell  upon  it — to  exasperate  our  idea  of  it  by  every 
refinement  of  ingenuity  and  extravagance  of  illustration — to  make  it  a  bugbear 
to  ourselves — to  point  it  out  to  others  in  all  the  splendor  of  deformity — to  em- 
body it  to  the  senses — to  stigmatize  it  in  words — to  grapple  with  it  in  thought, 
in  action — to  sharpen  our  intellect — to  arm  our  will  against  it — to  know  the 
worst  we  have  to  contend  with,  and  to  contend  with  it  to  the  utmost. 

Let  who  will  strip  nature  of  the  colors  and  the  shapes  of  "  Whiggism,"  the 
"  Whig"  is  not  bound  to  do  so;  the  impressions  of  common  sense  and  strong  ima- 
gination, that  is,  of  passion  and  "temperance,"  cannot  be  the  same,  and  they  must 
have  a  separate  language  to  do  justice  to  either.  Objects  must  strike  diff"erently 
upon  the  mind,  independently  of  what  they  are  in  themselves,  so  long  as  we  have 
a  different  interest  in  them — as  we  see  them  in  a  different  point  of  view,  nearer 
or  at  a  greater  distance  (morally  or  physically  speaking),  from  novelty — from  old 
acquaintance — from  our  ignorance  of  them — from  our  fear  of  their  consequences 
— from  contrast — from  unexpected  likeness ;  hence  nothing  but  Whiggism  can  be 
agreeable  to  nature  and  truth. 

This  lecture  gave  universal  satisfaction — but  Dr.  Magnus  is  a  man 
of  too  much  genius  not  to  acknowledge  unreservedly  his  obligations 
to  other  great  men — and  after  our  plaudits  had  expired,  he  informed 
us,  that  he  claimed  little  other  merit  than  that  of  having  delivered 
the  lecture  according  to  the  best  rules  and  principles  of  oratory,  for 
that  the  words  were  by  his  friend  Mr.  Hazlitt.  "  In  the  original," 
said  he,  "  Mr.  Hazlitt  employs  the  word  '  Poetry,'  which  I  have 
slightly  changed  into  the  word  '  Whiggism,'  and  thus  an  excellent 


1819.]  THE  TEA-PABTY.  9^3 

lecture  on  politics  is  procured,  without  the  ingenious  essayist  having 
been  at  all  aware  of  the  ultimate  meaning  of  his  production.*  "  As 
the  lecture  was  but  short,  will  you  have  another  ]" 

"  No — no — enough  is  as  good  as  a  feast,"  quoth  Odoherty — "  per- 
haps, Mr.  Editor,  if  you  request  it,  Mrs.  Magnus  will  have  the 
goodness  to  make  tea." 

There  was  not  only  much  true  politeness  in  this  suggestion  of  the 
Adjutant,  but  a  profound  knowledge  of  the  female  character — and, 
accordingly,  the  tea  things  were  not  long  of  making  their  appearance, 
for  in  our  Tent  it  was  just  sufficient  to  hint  a  wish,  and  that  wish, 
whatever  it  might  be,  that  moment  was  gratified.  Mr.  Magnus,  we 
observed,  put  in  upwards  of  thirty  spoonfuls— being  at  the  rate  of 
two  and  a  half  for  each  Contributor — and  the  lymph  came  out  of  the 
large  silver  tea-pot  "  a  perfect  tincture ;"  into  his  third  and  last  cup 
of  which  each  Contributor  emptied  a  decent  glass  of  whisky;  nor  did 
the  Lady  of  the  Tent,  any  more  than  the  Lady  of  the  Lake,  show  any 
symptoms  of  distaste  to  the  mountain  dew.  The  conversation  was 
indeed  divine — and  it  was  wonderful  with  what  ease  Mrs.  Magnus 
conducted  herself  in  so  difficult  a  situation.  She  had  a  word  or  a 
smile  for  every  one,  and  the  Shepherd  whispered  to  Tickler,  just  loud 
enough  to  be  heard  by  those  near  the  Contributors'  Box,  "  Sic  a  nice 
leddy  wad  just  sute  you  or  me  to  a  hair,  Mr.  Tickler.  Faith,  thae 
blue  ostrich  plumbs  wad  astonish  Davy  Bryden,  were  he  to  see  them 
hanging  o'er  the  tea-pat  at  Eltrive-Lake,  wi'  a  swurl." 

Alas  !  there  i*  always  something  imperfect  in  sublunary  happiness. 
Baillie  Jarvie  seemed  very  unwell  and  out  of  spirits.  "  What  ails 
you,  my  dear  Baillie,"  said  we,  in  the  most  affectionate  tone,  but  still 
Jarvie  sat  with  a  long,  dull,  dissatisfied  aspect,  which  looked  most 
excessively  absurd,  close  to  the  small  insignificant  happy  face  of  Tims, 
who  had  some  how  or  other  got  into  an  extraordinary  high  flow  of 
spirits  (we  suspect  he  had  sipped  too  much  of  that  stout  tea)  and  was 
coaxing  and  cockering  up  the  Baillie  with  "  how  now,  Mr.  Jarvie,  I 
'ope  you  are  more  better  now ;  will  you  try  one  of  my  pills,  my 
good  sir,  Mamar  'as  given  me  the  box  ;  see,  it  has  a  picture  of  Hescu- 
lapius  on  the  top.  Hopen  it,  Mr.  Bailiff,  and  take  out  as  many  as 
you  choose;  but  three  is  a  doze." 

"  I  am  for  none  o'  your  nasty  pills,  Mr.  Tims,  swallow  them  all 
yourself  before  you  lie  down." 

"  Mr.  Bailiff,  Mr.  Bailiff,  three  is  a  doze ;  was  I  to  do  that,  Tommy 
Tims  might  lie  down,  but  Tommy  Tims  would  never  rise  hup  no 
more ;"  and  as  he  ceased  speaking,  we  could  not  help  thinking  of  that 
passage  in  Milton,  where  it  is  said  of  Raphael,  that  when  he  came  to 
a  house,  Adam  could  not  help  thinking  that  the  angel  had  not  finished 
his  speech. 

*  On  examination  of  the  commencement  of  one  of  Hazlitt's  lectures  on  Poetry,  the  inge- 
nuity of  the  alteration  will  be  seen. 


9^  CHEISTOPHER   IN   THE  TENT.  [Sept. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  we,  "  give  us  a  song,  Baillie." 
"  I  don't  believe  you  wish  me  to  sing  or  to  do  any  thing  else,"  was 
the  reply ;  and  in  an  instant  we  saw  into  the  very  seat  of  the  Baillie's 
distemper.  He  manifestly  had  been  offended  because  we  had  not 
asked  him  for  an  Article,  which,  Heaven  knows,  proceeded  from  no 
distrust  in  his  literary  talents,  but  from  a  notion  that  he  would  prefer 
making  his  sagacious  remarks  on  the  articles  of  other  men,  to  any 
exhibition  of  his  own.  We  were  now  undeceived,  and  on  reiterating 
our  request,  honest  Jarvie  said,  that  he  would  recite  a  song,  not  sing 
it, — but  that  first  of  all,  he  must  say  a  word  or  two  by  way  of  pre- 
face: 

"  Though  I  was,"  said  he,  "  in  my  youth,  a  little  addicted  to  poeti- 
cal phantasies,  yet  have  I,  for  a  long  while,  been  justly  considered,  in 
the  Salt-market,  as  a  mere  proser.  Some  years  ago,  in  my  first 
wife's  time,  when  that  good  woman  was  sorely  afflicted  with  an  '  m- 
come,''*  I  was  advised  by  Dr.  Ninian  Hill  of  Glasgow,  to  carry  her 
to  the  country  for  a  change  of  air,  as  he  called  it,  or  as  I  have  been 
informed,  it  is  termed  by  Dr.  Gregory,  mutatio  coeli.  With  this 
view,  I  took  a  lease  for  a  summer,  at  £27  of  rent,  from  the  late  Mr. 
Robert  Robison,  of  the  villa .  and  garden  of  Leddrie  Green,  in  the 
parish  of  Strahlane,  a  sweet  spot,  and  of  which  parish  the  present 
learned  and  worthy  minister  of  St.  Andrew's  church  in  Glasgow, 
also  now  professor  of  Hebrew  in  our  university,  was  then  pastor.  I 
accordingly  went  thither  with  my  spouse  for  the  time  being,  and  my 
little  niece  Nicky,  that  is  to  say,  Nicolina  Jarvie,  at  that  time  a  little 
skelpy,  but  now  Mrs.  Mecklehose,  and  who  paid  the  most  assiduous 
attention  to  her  aunt  in  her  last  illness,  reading  to  her  at  night  Mrs. 
Mclver's  Cookery,  and  the  Rev.  Ralph  Erskine's  Sermons.  It  was 
on  a  Saturday  evening  after  tea,  as  I  recollect,  and  when  a  little 
fatigued  by  my  ride  from  Glasgow  in  a  very  warm  day,  and  my  wife 
rather  worse,  that,  in  order  to  recreate  myself,  I  sat  down  in  a  little 
arbor  in  the  garden — the  church  and  manse,  and  a  jug  of  whisky 
toddy,  full  in  my  view — and  composed  a  trifling  ballad,  which,  with 
the  permission  of  this  company  (and  if  Captain  Odoherty  would  be 
pleased  to  give  over  swearing),  I  shall  now  read  (though,  as  I  find  I 
have  lost  my  spectacles  this  morning  in  the  hill  in  chasing  Mr.  Con- 
stable's bitch,  who  was  worrying  a  lamb,  I  wish  I  may  be  abie), 
but—" 

Here  the  Baillie  was  interrupted  rather  improperly  by  Mr.  Tick- 
ler, who  briskly  offered  to  read  the  ballad  loithout  Spectacles. 
"  Deil  tak  me,"  quoth  Mr.  Hogg,  "  if  I  think  you're  able." 
Instantly  Mr.  Wastle,  to  put  an  end  to  all  contention,  proposed  to 
read  it  himself,  and  this  being  agreed  to  by  acclamation,  BuUer  of 

•  Income — Issue. 


1819.]  LEDDKIE    GREEN.  95 

Brazennose  insisted,  with  rather  an  undue  vehemence,  on  a  liminary 
bumper ;  and  this  also  being  instantly  agreed  to,  and  instantly  swal- 
lowed, Mr.  Wastle  rose,  and  in  his  usual  graceful  and  impressive 
manner,  read  with  much  pathos, 

LEDDRIE    GREEN, 

An  excellent  new  Song, 

Writtenby  Baiu^ie  Jar  vie,  a  good  many  Years  ago. 

"If  that  be  not  a  bull,"  cried  Odoherty. — "  Silence,  Mr.  Odoherty," 
and  Mr.  Wastle  proceeded. 

1. 

Ye  who,  on  rural  pleasures  bent, 

Roam  idly  round  in  summer  slieen, 
From  John  o'Groat's  to  southern  Kent, 

No  spot  you'll  find  like  Leddrie  Green. 

2. 
Talk  not  to  me  of  Brighton's  joys, 

Its  gay  parade  and  glittering  steyne ; 
I'd  leave  its  crowds  and  endless  noise, 

For  the  sweet  woods  of  Leddrie  Green. 

3. 
At  Tunbridge  ye  who  sip  the  springs, 

Or  at  the  Sussex  Pad'  are  seen  ; 
Ah  !  if  you  heard  the  rill  that  rings, 

Perennial  close  to  Leddrie  Green, 

4. 
And  ye  at  Harrowgate  impure, 

Who  shudder  o'er  your  drafts  unclean, 
'Twould  be  a  shorter  ride,  I'm  sure. 

And  sweeter  far,  to  Leddrie  Green. 

5. 
Saltmarket  Muse  !  now  deftly  tell 

How  rocks  basaltic  rise  and  screen 
The  windings  of  the  upland  fell, 

That  skirts  the  strath  at  Leddrie  Green. 

6. 
Bold  crags  romantic  thence  ye  view, 

Loch  Lomond  and  its  woods  I  ween ; 
And  Morven's  summits  tinged  with  blue, 

Break  the  far  sky  at  Leddrie  Green. 

7. 
Thy  spout,  Ballagan,  thundering  down 

Like  Niagara  foams  between 
The  darksome  pines  and  shrubs,  that  own 

The  neighborhood  of  Leddrie  Green. 


96  CHEISTOPHEE  IN  THE  TENT.  [Sept 

8. 

And  ye  who,  vex'd  with  city  noise, 

E^etire  to  breathe  tlie  air  so  keen  ; 
Ah  1  think  of  eating  Nicky's  pies,  ■' 

And  turkey  pouts  at  Leddrie  Green. 
9. 
Or  you  who  lonely  wish  to  sigh, 

O'er  life's  short  course  and  winter's  e'en, 
Go  view  the  mausoleum  nigh, 

The  parish-kirk  at  Leddrie  Green. 
10. 
A  gentle  swain  here  rests  inurn'd, 

The  only  spot  where  rest  is  given  ; 
Between  two  wives,  each  duly  mourn'd, 

And  married  still  'tis  hoped  in  heaven. 

This  poem  was  applauded  to  "  the  very  echo"  by  all  but  Mrs. 
Magnus,  who  was  too  polite  to  say  anything  derogatory  to  Bailie 
Jarvie's  genius.  Indeed,  she  no  doubt  adnnired  that  genius,  but  the 
subject  did  not  seem  to  interest  her.  "  My  dear  Mr.  Odoherty  (for 
they  treated  each  other  with  infinite  respect),  will  you  give  us  some- 
thing amatory  f — "  I  gives  my  vice,  too,  for  something  hamatory," 
pertly  enough  whiffled  Mr.  Tims ; — when  the  Standard-bearer,  after 
humming  a  few  notes,  and  taking  the  altitude  from  the  pitch-key  of 
Tickler  (which  he  carries  about  with  him  as  certainly  as  a  parson 
carries  a  corkscrew),  went  off  in  noble  style  with  the  following  song, 
his  eyes  all  the  while  turned  towards  Mrs.  Magnus  Oglethorpe, 
whose  twinklers  emanated  still  but  eloquent  responses  not  to  be 
misunderstood. 

inconstancy;  a  song  to  mrs.  m'whirter. 
By  Mr.  Odohekty. 
1. 
"  Ye  fleeces  of  gold  amidst  crimson  enroU'd 

That  sleep  in  tlie  calm  western  sky, 
Lovely  relies  of  day  float — ah  !  float  not  away ! 
Are  ye  gone  ?  then,  ye  beauties,  good  bye  !" 
It  was  thus  the  fair  maid  I  had  loved  would  have  staid 

The  last  gleamings  of  passion  in  me ; 
But  the  orb's  fiery  glow  in  the  soft  wave  below 
Had  been  cooled — and  the  thing  could  not  be. 
2. 
While  thro'  deserts  you  rove,  if  you  find  a  green  grove 

Where  the  dark  branches  overhead  meet, 
There  repose  you  a  while  from  the  heat  and  the  toil, 

And  bo  thankful  the  shade  is  so  sweet ; 
But  if  long  you  remain,  it  is  odds  but  the  rain 

Or  the  wind  'mong  the  leaves  may  be  stirring ; 
They  will  strip  the  boughs  bare^you're  a  fool  to  stay  there — 
Change  the  scene  without  further  demurring. 


1819.]  MRS.    OGLETHORPE.  97 

3. 
If  a  rich-laden  tree  in  your  wanderings  you  see, 

With  the  ripe  fruit  all  glowing  and  swelling, 
Take  your  fill  as  you  pass — if  you  don't  you're  an  ass. 

But  I  daresay  you  don't  need  my  telling. 
'Twould  be  just  as  great  fooling  to  come  back  for  more  pulling, 

When  a  week  or  two  more  shall  have  gone, 
These  firm  plums  very  rapidly,  they  will  taste  very  vapidly, 

— By  good  luck  we'll  have  pears  coming  on  ! 

4. 
All  around  Nature's  range  is  from  changes  to  changes, 

And  in  change  all  her  charming  is  centei-ed — 
When  you  step  from  the  stream  where  you've  bathed,  'twere  a  dream 

To  suppose 't  the  same  stream  that  you  entered ; 
Each  clear  crystal  wave  just  a  passing  kiss  gave, 

And  kept  rolling  away  to  the  sea — 
So  the  love-stricken  slave  for  a  moment  may  rave, 

But  ere  long,  oh  !  how  distant  he'll  be  ? 

5. 

Why — 'tis  only  in  name,  you,  e'en  you,  are  the  same 
,    With  the  SHE  that  inspired  my  devotion, 
Every  bit  of  the  lip  that  I  lov'd  so  to  sip 

Has  been  changed  in  the  general  commotion — 
Even  these  soft  gleaming  eyes,  that  awaked  my  young  sighs. 

Have  been  altered  a  thousand  times  over ; 
Why  ?  Oh  I  why  then  complain  that  so  short  was  your  reign  ? 

Must  all  Nature  go  round  but  your  lover  ? 

The  tears  flowed  in  torrents,  from  the  blue  eyes  of  Mrs.  Magnus, 
during  the  whole  of  this  song;  and  when  Mr.  Tims,  who  was  now  ex- 
tremely inebriated  (he  has  since  apologized  to  us  for  his  behavior, 
and  assured  us,  that  when  tipsy  on  tea  he  is  always  quite  beyond 
himself),  vehemently  cried,  "  Hangcore!  hangcore !"  the  gross  impro- 
priety of  such  unfeeling  conduct  was  felt  by  Mr.  Seward,  who  offered, 
if  agreeable  to  us,  to  turn  him  out  of  the  Tent ;  but  Tims  became 
more  reasonable  upon  this,  and  asked  permission  to  go  to  bed ;  which 
being  granted,  his  friend  Price  assisted  the  small  cit  to  lay  down,  and 
in  a  few  minutes,  we  think,  unless  we  were  deceived,  that  we  faintly 
heard  something  like  his  own  thin  tiny  little  snore. 

Mrs.  Magnus  soon  recovered  her  cheerfulness;  for  being,  with  all  her 
vivacity,  subject  to  frequent  but  short  fits  of  absence,  she  every  now 
and  then,  no  doubt  without  knowing  what  she  was  about,  filled  up  her 
tea-cup,  not  from  the  silver  tea-pot,  but  from  a  magisterial-looking 
bottle  of  whisky,  which  then,  and  indeed  at  all  times,  stood  on  our  table. 
She  now  volunteered  a  song  of  her  own  composition  ;  and  after  finger- 
ing away  in  the  most  rapid  style  of  manipulation  on  the  edge  of  the 
table,  as  if  upon  her  own  spinnet  in  Philadelphia,  she  too  took  the 
key  from  Tickler's  ready  instrument,  and  chanted  in  recitativo  what 
follows — an  anomalous  kind  of  poetry. 

VOL.  I.  5 


98  OHEISTOPKER   IN   THE   TENT.  [Sept. 

CHAUNT. BY    MRS.    mVhIRTER. 

Tune. — Tlie  Powldoodies  of  Burran.* 

1. 
I  "WONDER  what  the  mischief  was  in  me  when  a  bit  of  my  music  I  proffered  ye  ! 
How  could  any  woman  sing  a  good  song  when  she's  just  parting  with  Morgan 

Odoherty  ? 
A  poor  body,  I  think,  would  have  more  occasion  for  a  comfortable  quiet  can, 
To  keep  up  her  spirits  in  taking  lave  of  so  nate  a  young  man — 
Besides,  as  for  me,  I'm  not  an  orator  like  Bushe,  Plunket,  Grattan,  or  Curran,f 
So  I  can  only  hum  a  few  words  to  the  old  cbaunt  of  the  Powldoodies  of  Burrau4 

Chorus. — Oh !  the  Powldoodies  of  Burran, 

The  green,  green  Powldoodies  of  Burran, 

The  green  Powldoodies,  the  clean  Powldoodies, 

The  gaping  Powldoodies  of  Burran  ! 

2. 

I  remember  a  saying  of  my  Lord  Norbury,  that  excellent  Judge,  | 

Says  he,  never  believe  what  a  man  says  to  ye,  Molly,  for  believe  me  'tis  all  fudge ; 

He  said  it  sitting  on  the  Bench  before  the  whole  Grand  Jury  of  Tipperary, 

If  I  had  minded  it,  I  had  been  the  better  on't,  as  sure  as  my  name's  Mary  ; 

I  would  have  paid  not  the  smallest  attention,  ye  good-for-nothing  elf  ye,% 

To  the  fine  speeches  that  took  me  off  my  feet  in  the  swate  city  of  Philadelphy. 

Oh !  the  Powldoodies  of  Burran,  (fee.  <fec. 

3. 

By  the  same  rule,  says  my  dear  Mr.  Bushe,  one  night  when  I  was  sitting  beside 


"  Molly,  love,"  says  he,  "  if  you  go  on  at  this  rate,  you've  no  idea  what  bad  luck  it 

will  cause  ye ; 
You  may  go  on  very  merrily  for  a  while,  but  you'll  see  what  will  come  on't. 
When  to  answer  for  all  your  misdeeds,  at  the  last  you  are  summoned  ; 
Do  you  fancy  a  young  woman  can  proceed  in  this  sad  lightheaded  way, 
And  not  suflter  in  the  long  run,  tho'  munetime  she  may  merrily  say. 

Oh !  the  Powldoodies  of  Burran,  <fee.  <fec. 

4. 
But  I'm  sure  there's  plenty  of  other  people  that's  very  near  as  bad's  me. 
Yes,  and  I  will  make  bould  to  affirm  it  in  the  very  tiptopsoraest  degree ; 
Only  they're  rather  more  cunning  concealing  on't,  tho'  they  meet  with  their  fops 
Every  now  and  then  by  the  mass,  about  four  o'clock  in  their  Milliners'  shops ; 
In  our  own  pretty  Dame-street§   I've  seen  it — the  fine  Lady  comes  commonly 

first, 
And  then  comes  her  beau  on  pretence  of  a  watch-ribbon,  or  the  like  I  purtest. 

Oh  !  the  Powldoodies  of  Burran,  <fec.  <fec. 

*  The  Powldoodies  of  Burran  are  oysters,  of  -which  more  -will  be  said  and  sung  in  future 
Numbers  of  this  Work.— C  N. 

t  Bushe,  afterwards  Chief  Justice  of  Ireland  ;  Plunket,  Lord  Chancellor  ;  Grattan,  who 
truly  said  of  Irish  independence,  "  I  sat  by  its  cradle,  1  followed  its  hearse  ;"  Curran,  the  orator 
and  patriot,  honest  in  the  worst  of  times,  "  over  whose  ashes,"  to  use  his  own  words,  "  the  most 
precious  tears  of  Ireland  have  been  shed." — M. 

X  Malahide,  near  Dublin,  supplies  the  oysters,  called  the  Powldoodies  of  Burran.— M. 

II  Of  "  Lord  Norbury,  that  excellent  Judge,"  there  is  a  very  particular,  though  not  flattering 
account,  in  Shell's  Sketches  of  the  Irish  Bar.  It  could  not  be  said  of  him  that  he  tempered 
justice  with  mercy.    In  his  vocabulary  neither  word  could  be  found. — M. 

§  Dublin.— M. 


1819.]  "  THE   POWLDOODIES   OF   BrKEAN."  99 

5. 
But  as  for  me,  I  could  not  withstand  him,  'tis  the  beatitiful  dear  Ensign  I  mean, 
When  he  came  into  the  Shining  Daisy*  with  his  milkwhite  smallclothes  so  clean, 
With  his  epaulette  shining  on  his  shoulder,  and  his  golden  gorget  at  his  breast. 
And  his  long  silken  sash  so  genteelly  twisted  many  times  round  about  his  neat 

waist ; 
His  black  gaiters  that  were  so  tight,  and  reached  up  to  a  little  below  his  knee. 
And  showed  so  well  the  prettiest  calf  e'er  an  Irish  lass  had  the  good  luck  to  see. 

Oh  1  the  Powldoodies  of  Burran,  <fec.  <fec. 

6. 
His  eyes  were  like  a  flaming  coal-fire,  all  so  black  and  yet  so  bright. 
Or  like  a  star  shining  clearly  in  the  middle  of  the  dark  heaven  at  night, 
And  the  white  of  them  was  not  white,  but  a  charming  sort  of  hue, 
Like  a  morning  sky,  or  skimmed  milk,  of  a  delicate  sweet  blue  ; 
But  when  he  whispered  sweetly,  then  his  eyes  were  so  soft  and  dim. 
That  it  would  have  been  a  heart  of  brass  not  to  have  pity  upon  him. 

Oh  !  the  Powldoodies  of  Burran,  &c.  &c. 

V. 
And  yet  now  you  see  he's  left  me  like  a  pair  of  old  boots  or  shoes. 
And  makes  love  to  all  the  handsome  ladies,  for  ne'er  a  one  of  them  can  refuse ; 
Through  America  and  sweet  Ireland,  and  Bath  and  London  City, 
For  he  must  always  be  running  after  something  that's  new  and  pretty, 
Playing  the  devil's  own  delights  in  Holland,  Spain,  Portugal,  and  France, 
And  here  too  in  the  cold  Scotch  mountains,  where  I've  met  with  him  by  very 
chance.  Oh  !  the  Powldoodies  of  Burran,  &o.  &q 

8. 
When  he  first  ran  off  and  deserted  me,  I  thought  my  heart  was  plucked  away. 
Such  a  tugging  in  my  breast,  I  did  not  sleep  a  wink  till  peep  of  day — 
May  I  be  a  sinner  if  I  ever  bowed  but  for  a  moment  my  eye-lid. 
Tossing  round  about  from  side  to  side  in  the  middle  of  my  bid. 
One  minute  kicking  off  all  the  three  blankets,  the  sheets,  and  the  counterpane. 
And  then  stuflBng  them  up  over  my  head  like  a  body  beside  myself  again. 

Oh !  the  Powldoodies  of  Burran,  (fee.  <fec. 


Says  I  to  myself,  I'll  repeat  over  the  whole  of  the  Pater  JS'oster,  Ave-Maria,  and 

creed, 
If  I  don't  fall  over  into  a  doze  e'er  I'm  done  with  them  'twill  be  a  very  uncommon 

thing  indeed  ; 
But,  would  you  believe  it  ?     I  was  quite  lively  when  I  came  down  to  the  Amen, 
And  it  was  always  just  as  bad  tho'  I  repeated  them  twenty  times  over  and  over 

again ; 
I  also  tried  counting  of  a  thousand,  but  still  found  myself  broad  awake, 
With  a  cursed  pain  in  the  fore  part  of  my  head,  all  for  my  dear  sweet  Ensign 

Odoherty's  sake.  Oh  !  the  Powldoodies  of  Burran,  &c.  tfec. 

10. 
But,  to  cut  a  long  story  short,  I  was  in  a  high  fever  when  I  woke  in  the  morning, 
Whereby  all  women  in  my  situation  should  take  profit  and  warning ; 

*  The  Shining  Daisy  -was  the  sign  of  Mrs.  M'Whir.ter's  chop-house  at  Philadelphia.     Sir 
Daniel  Donelly  hoisted  the  same  sign  over  his  booth  the  other  day  at  Donnybrook  Fair. — C.  N. 


100  CHBISTOPHER   IN   THE  TENT.  '[Sept. 

And  Doctor  Oglethorpe  he  was  sent  for,  and  he  ordered  me  on  no  account  to  rise, 
But  to  lie  still  and  have  the  whole  of  my  back  covered  over  with  Spanish  flies  ; 
He  also  gave  me  leeches  and  salts,  castor  oil  and  the  balsam  capivi, 
Till  I  was  brought  down  to  a  mare  shadow,  and  so  pale  that  the  sight  would  have 
grieved  ye.  Oh  !  the  Powldoodies  of  Burran,  &c.  &q. 

11. 

But  in  the  course  of  a  few  days  more  I  began  to  stump  a  little  about, 

And  by  the  blessing  of  air  and  exercise,  I  grew  every  day  more  and  more  stout ; 

And  in  a  week  or  two  I  recovered  my  twist,  and  could  play  a  capital  knife  and 

fork, 
Being  not  in  the  least  particular  whether  it  was  beef,  veal,  lamb,  mutton,  or  pork  -, 
But  of  all  the  things  in  the  world,  for  I  was  always  my  father's  own  true  daughter, 
I  liked  best  to  dine  on  fried  tripes,  and  wash  it  down  with  a  little  hot  brandy  and 

water.  Oh !  the  Powldoodies  of  Burran,  &q.  &q. 

12. 

If  I  had  the  least  bit  of  genius  for  poems,  I  could  make  some  very  nice  songs 
On  the  cruelties  of  some  people's  sweethearts,  and  some  people's  sufferings  and 

wrongs ; 
For  he  was  master,  I'm  sure,  of  my  house,  and  there  was  nothing  at  all  at  all 
In  the  whole  of  the  Shining  Daisy  for  which  he  could  not  just  ring  the  bell  and 

call ; 
We  kept  always  a  good  larder  of  pidgeon  pyes,  hung  beef,  ham,  and  cowheel. 
And  we  would  have  got  any  thing  to  please  him  that  we  could  either  beg,  borrow, 

or  steal.  Oh  1  the  Powldoodies  of  Burran,  <fec.  <fec 

13. 
And  at  night  when  we  might  be  taking  our  noggin  in  the  little  back  room, 
I  thought  myself  as  sure  of  my  charmer  as  if  he  had  gone  to  church  my  bride- 
groom ; 
But  I  need  not  keep  harping  on  that  string  and  ripping  up  of  the  same  old  sore, 
He  went  off  in  the  twinkling  of  a  bed-post,  and  I  never  heard  tell  of  him  no  more. 
So  I  married  the  great  Doctor  Oglethorpe,  who  had  been  my  admirer  all  along, 
And  we  had  some  scolloped  Powldoodies  for  supper ;  and  every  crature  joined  in 
the  old  song.  Oh  !  the  Powldoodies  of  Burran,  <fec.  &c. 

14. 

Some  people  eats  their  Powldoodies  quite  neat  just  as  they  came  out  of  the  sea, 
But  with  a  little  black  pepper  and  vinegar  some  other  people's  stomachs  better 

agree ; 
Young  ladies  are  very  fond  of  oyster  paties,  and  young  gentlemen  of  oyster  broth: 
But  I  think  I  know  a  bit  of  pasture  that  is  far  better  than  them  both : 
For  whenever  we  want  to  be  comfortable,  says  I  to  the  Doctor — my  dear  man, 
Let's  have  a  few  scolloped  Powldoodies,  and  a  bit  of  tripe  fried  in  the  pan. 
Chorus.— Oh !  the  Powldoodies  of  Burran, 

The  green,  green  Powldoodies  of  Burran, 

The  green  Powldoodies,  the  clean  Powldoodies, 

The  gaping  Powldoodies  of  Burran. 

After  Mrs.  Magnus  had  received  those  plaudits  from  the  Tent  due 
to  this  exhibition  of  native  genius,  the  learned  Doctor  somewhat 
anxiously  asked  us  what  sort  of  accommodation  we  had  for  him  and 
his  lady  during  the  night  ?  We  told  him  that  the  Tent  slept  twenty 
easily,  and  that  a -few  more  could  be  stowed  away  between  the  inter- 


1819.]  THE    SHAITDRTDAiq-.  101 

stices.  "  But  give  yourself  no  uneasiness,  Dr.  Magnus,  on  that  score; 
we  are  aware  of  the  awkwardness  of  a  lady  passing  the  night  with  so 
many  Contributors,  and  of  the  censoriousness  of  the  world,  many 
people  in  which  seem  determined,  Doctor,  to  put  an  unfavorable 
construction  on  every  thing  we  do  or  say.  Besides,  your  excellent 
lady  might  find  our  Tent  like  the  Black  Bull  Inn  of  Edinburgh,  as  it 
was  twenty  years  ago,  when  Dr.  Morris  first  visited  it,  '  crowded, 
noisy,  shabby,  and  uncomfortable.'  Now  the  inn  at  Braemar  is  a 
most  capital  one,  where  the  young  ladies  of  the  family  will  pay  every 
attention  to  Mrs.  Magnus.  We  have  already  dispatched  a  special 
messenger  for  Dr.  Morris'  shandrydan,  and  as  it  is  a  fine  moonlight 
night,  you  can  trundle  yourselves  down  to  bed  in  a  jiffey." 

The  sound  of  the  shandrydan  confirmed  our  words,  and  we  all  at- 
tended Mrs.  Magnus  and  her  husband  to  the  road,  to  see  them  safely 
mounted.  Our  readers  have  all  seen  Peter's  shandrydan^ — a  smart, 
snug,  safe,  smooth,  roomy,  easy-going  concern,  that  carries  you  over 
the  stones  as  if  you  were  on  turf;  and  where,  may  we  ask,  will  you 
see  a  more  compact  nimble  little  horse  than  Peter's  horse  Scrub — 
with  feet  as  steady  as  clock-work,  and  a  mouth  that  carries  his  bit 
with  a  singular  union  of  force  and  tenderness  1 

"  I  fear  that  I  cannot  guide  this  vehicle  along  Highland  roads,"  said 
Dr.  Magnus ;  "  and  I  suspect  that  steed  is  given  to  starting,  from  the 
manner  in  which  he  keeps  rearing  his  head  about,  and  pawing  the 
ground  like  a  mad  bull.  My  dear,  it  would  be  flying  in  the  face  of 
Providence  to  ascend  the  steps  of  that  shandrydan." 

While  the  orator  was  thus  expressing  his  trepidation,  the  Standard- 
bearer  handed  Mrs.  Magnus  forward,  who,  with  her  nodding  plumes, 
leapt  lightly  up  beneath  the  giant  strength  of  his  warlike  arm,  and 
took  her  seat  with  an  air  of  perfect  composure  and  dignity ;  while 
Odoherty,  adjusting  the  reins  with  the  skill  of  a  Lade  or  Buxton,  and 
elevating  his  dexter  hand  that  held  them  and  the  whip  in  its  gnostic 
grasp,  caught  hold  of  the  rail  of  the  shandrydan  with  his  left,  and 
flung  himself,  as  it  were,  to  the  fair  side  of  her  who  had  once  been 
the  mistress  of  his  youthful  heart,  but  for  whom  he  now  retained  only 
the  most  respectful  affection. 

"  Mount  up  behind.  Dr.  Magnus,"  cried  the  Adjutant,  somewhat 
impatiently ;  "  your  feet  will  not  be  more  than  six  inches  from  the 
ground,  so  that  in  case  of  any  disaster,  you  can  drop  off  like  a  ripe 
pease-cod — mount,  I  say.  Doctor,  mount." 

The  Doctor  did  so ;  and  the  Standard-bearer,  giving  a  blast  on 
Wastle's  bugle,  and  cutting  the  thin  air  with  his  thong  several  yards 
beyond  Scrub's  nose,  away  went  the  shandrydan,  while  the  moun- 
tains of  the  Dee  echoed  again  to  the  rattling  of  its  wheels. 

*  In  Peter's  Letters  there  was  a  good  deal  of  quizzing  respecting  Dr.  Morris's  shandrydan, 
of  which  a  sketch  was  given,  showing  it  to  be  a  one-horse  gig,  on  two  high  wheels,  running 
lightly,  and  capable  of  holding  two  persons. — M. 


102  CHKIBTOPHER   IN  THE  TENT.  [Sept. 

The  Tent  had  lost  its  chief  charm — so  "  the  dull  and  dowie  "  Con- 
tributors prepared  for  repose.  In  the  uncertain  light  of  Luna,  we 
saw  the  tall,  white,  ghostlike  shirt  of  Tickler  towering  over  the  lower 
statures;  but  in  a  few  minutes,  the  principal  Contributors  to  this 
Magazine  were,  like  Mr.  Constable's  authors,  sound  asleep,  all  but  the 
Editor.  What  with  the  rheumatism,  which  always  gets  worse  in  the 
warmth  of  bed ;  and  what  with  the  cares  of  our  profession,  our  mind 
was  absolutely  like  a  sea  full  of  waves,  we  will  not  say  running 
mountains  high,  far  from  it,  but  a  vast  multitude  of  active  smallish 
rippling  waves,  like  those  that  keep  chasing  each  other  to  the  shore, 
for  several  hours  at  a  time,  till  it  is  high  water  at  Leith.  As  we  lay 
in  this  condition,  in  the  midst  of  the  snore  of  the  Tent,  a  footstep 
came  to  our  bed-side,  and  a  soft  voice  whispered,  "  Maister,  Maister ! 
are  you  wauken  f  We  sat  up  and  saw  the  face  of  our  incomparable 
caddy,  John  M'Kay.  "  Here's  a  letter  frae  Lord  Fife,  as  braid's  a 
bannock.  Black  Hamish,  that  procht  it^  says  there's  an  awfu'  steer 
doon  at  the  ludge."  We  went  into  the  moonlight,  where,  by-the-by, 
we  saw  Kempferhausen  very  absurdly  sitting  on  a  stone,  staring  at 
the  sky,  as  if  he  had  just  then  seen  it  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  and 
read  the  Thane's  letter.  We  then  returned  to  bed  to  revolve  its 
contents  in  our  mind,  and  to  make  fitting  arrangements  for  the  morn- 
ing. The  letter  was  short,  for  his  Lordship  uses  but  few  words,  and 
these  always  the  very  best, — 

My  Dear  Sir — To-morrow  Prince  Leopold  will  visit  the  Tent 
— Yours  truly,  Fife. 


Elie  a^i^t  Wun  of  ttie  Ktnt 


Having  been  thus  kindly  prepared  by  the  letter  of  our  friend  the 
Thane,  we  ordered  a  reveille  to  be  blown  about  six  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  and  hinted  to  the  more  active  members  of  our  assembly, 
that  it  would  be  proper  for  them  to  start  in  order  to  replenish  our 
larder  with  a  quantity  of  game  sufficient  for  the  entertainment  of 
these  most  honored  guests.  Nor  did  our  suggestion  require  to  be 
enforced  by  many  words :  Morris,  Wastle,  Tickler,  Odoherty,  Bal- 
lantyne,  Hogg,  &c.,  &c.,  had  all  started  from  their  couches  long 
before  we  (fatigued  as  we  had  been  with  our  manifold  exertions) 
thought  proper  to  be  awake — and  when  at  last  we  aroused  ourselves, 
the  interior  of  the  tabernacle  was  quite  deserted  around  us.  Wrap- 
ping ourselves  in  a  blanket,  we  were  stepping  forth  with  the  view  of 
bathing  (as  had  been  our  wont)  in  the' sweet  waters  of  the  Dee— but 
on  emerging  from  the  Tent,  a  very  unexpected  phenomenon  met  our 
eyes. 

Within  a  few  yards  of  our  Pavilion,  a  very  remarkable,  and  cer- 
tainly a  very  reverend-looking  old  gentleman,  bearing  no  resem- 
blance whatever  either  in  outline  or  habiliments  to  any  of  the  present 
members  of  our  fi^ternity,  was  seated  in  a  large  chair,  with  a  long 
clay  pipe  of  the  genuine  Dutch  fashion  in  his  mouth.  He  was 
arrayed  in  a  full  suit  of  dignified  black,  with  the  black  silk  apron, 
now  worn  by  few  except  the  Bishops  and  Deans  of  the  English 
church,  suspended  in  ample  folds  from  his  capacious  middle.  On 
his  head  was  a  large  shovel  hat,  garnished  with  a  black  rose  in  front, 
and  so  low  and  loosely  did  this  hafr  sit  upon  the  cranium,  that  it  was 
evident  there  was  no  wig  below. 

On  the  right  of  this  surprising  personage  the  Ettrick  Shepherd  sat 
squat  on  the  earth — his  nether  parts  protected  from  the  cold  soil,  yet 
wet  with  the  morning  dew,  only  by  the  intervention  of  his  gray  maud. 
He  also  had  a  pipe  in  his  mouth — not  a  long  white  pipe  like  the 
dignitary — but  a  short  little  stump  of  some  two  inches  in  length,  and 
all  over  japanned  as  darkly  and  as  brightly  as  if  it  had  been  dipt  in 
a  pot  of  Day  and  Martin's  imperial  blacking. 

Slow,  solemn,  and  voluminous  were  the  puffs  that  issued  from  the 
lengthier  tube — quick,  vehement  and  lusty  were  those  of  the  Shep- 
herd— never  did  a  piece  of  hogg's  flesh  seem  to  be  in  a  fairer  way 


104:  CHRISTOPHEK   EST   THE   TENT. 


XSept 


of  being  cured,  in  the  true  Suabian  method,  than  his  nose,  were  the 
process  to  be  continued  much  longer.  Opposite  to  these  stood  Se- 
ward and  Buller,  each  with  his  gun  in  his  hand — the  whole  group 
had  the  appearance  of  being  earnestly  occupied  in  some  conversation, 
and  for  a  moment  we  almost  scrupled  to  interrupt  them. 

Seward  was  the  first  who  observed  us,  and  he  immediately  beck- 
oned us  to  join  the  party.  "  Here,"  cried  he,  "  comes  the  illustrious 
Editor  of  the  first  and  last  of  Magazines  ;  and  here,  "  pointing  to  the 
stranger,  "  is  the  most  illustrious  of  all  the  visitors  that  have  yet 
intruded  upon  the  encampment  of  Braemar — here,  Mr.  Editor,  is  the 
great  Dr.  Parr !"  But  for  the  want  of  his  wig,  we  could  have  been 
in  no  need  of  this  information ;  but  it  was  really  with  some  difficulty 
that,  after  the  fact  was  announced  to  us,  we  could  bring  our  eyes  to 
recognize  in  the  features  before  us  those  of  the  Facile  Princeps  of 
English  Scholars  ;  and  yet  it  was  wonderful,  surely,  that  it  should 
have  been  so,  for  many  a  pipe  had  we  smoked  together  in  the  days 
of  old  at  Charles  Burney's.  But  nothing,  the  fact  is  certain,  produces 
so  great  a  change  on  a  man's  aspect  as  the  addition  or  subtraction 
of  a  periwig.  Who  could  recognize  in  the  cropped  and  whiskered 
Lord  of  Session  as  he  jostles  his  way  down  the  High-street,  or  in 
the  spencered  and  gaitered  Lord  of  Session  as  he  ambles  on  a  shelty 
along  Leith  Sands,  the  same  being,  whose  physiognomy  had  but  a 
few  minutes  before  appeared  to  him  amidst  all  the  imposing  amplifi- 
cations of  curl  and  frizz,  lowering  in  more  than  marble  abstraction 
over  the  whole  living  farrago  of  the  side-bar  1  A  pretty  woman  also 
becomes  very  dissimilis  sibi  when  any  whiff  of  the  wind,  or  the  dance, 
or  the  chandelier,  snatches  from  her  the  luxurious  masterpiece  of 
Urquhart  or  Gianetti,  and  exposes  to  the  gaze  of  her  admirers  nothing 
but  a  pair  of  red  ears  projecting  from  a  little  tight  cap  of  yellow 
flannel,  or  a  bare  cranium,  with  here  and  there  a  few  short  ragged 
hairs,  red  or  gray,  in  form  and  disposition  resembling  the  scanty 
covering  of  some  discarded  tooth-brush.  These  are  both  sad  meter 
morphoses  in  their  way.  But  neither  of  them  so  complete  as  those 
of  the  Bellendenian  Parr.=^     The  change  had  scarcely  been  more 

*  Dr.  Samuel  Parr,  who  died  in  1825,  -was  one  of  the  last  of  the  truly  learned  men  of 
the  Johnsonian  era.  He  was  not  the  very  last,  because  there  is  now  [1854]  as  President  of 
Magdalen  College,  Oxford — he  was  elected  in  1791 — Dr.  M.  J.  Routh,  "a  scholar  and  a  ripe 
one."  who  is  nearly  a  century  old,  and  whose  intellect  burns  as  brightly  in  the  lamp  of  life 
now,  with  a  flame  as  clear  and  steady  as  ever  it  did  in  youth.  Parr,  whose  highest  church 
dignity  was  a  prebend's  stall  in  St.  Paul's  Cathedral,  liondon,  always  considered  himself  badly 
used  in  not  having  been  made  a  bishop,  during  the  short  time  (1806-7),  that  the  whig  leaders, 
his  personal  friends,  were  in  power.  No  doubt  the  ultra-liberality  of  his  politics  was  one 
barrier.  His  own  assertion  was,  "  Had  my  friends  continued  in  power  one  fortnight  longer, 
Dr.  Hungerford  was  to  have  been  translated  to  Hereford,  and  I  was  lo  have  had  Gloucester. 
My  family  arrangements  were  made."  With  all  his  scholarship,  which  was  large,  he  did  not 
accomplish  any  individual  literary  work  of  any  great  merit.  He  wasted  his  talents  and 
learning  on  pamphlets,  with  the  exception  of  his  character  of  the  late  Charles  James  Fox,  in 
two  volumes,  which  fell  far  short  of  public  expectation,  and  his  Latin  preface  (in  which  he 
sketched  the  characters  of  Burke,  Lord  North,  and  Fox)  to  a  new  edition  of  the  third  book  of 
Bellendenus.    This  has  been  considered  the  most  successful  modern  imitation  of  the  style  of 


1819.]  sceibble's  epistle.  105 

appalling,  though  Circe  herself  had  been  there  to  change  the  Man  into 
a  Hogg. 

"  All  hail !"  said  we,  "  and  right  welcome  I  This  is  indeed  a  most 
unexpected  honor — what  can  have  been  the  means  of  bringing  Dr. 
Parr  to  the  valley  of  the  Dee  f  "  Mr.  Editor,"  returned  the  Doctor, 
bowing  apstfxwrarwj  (for  no  English  word  can  do  justice  to  the  placid 
courtesy  of  that  classical  reverence) — "  You  do  injustice  to  your  own 
fame  when  you  meet  your  visitors  with  such  an  interrogation  as  this. 
Why  did  I  come  to  the  valley  of  the  Dee  1 

''Q  KXeivordrrjv  aWepiov  otKLaag  xsoalv, 
OvK  oi^  6'  6a7]v  tijw^v  zsap'  dvdpuzjoic  <j>£p€i, 
'Ocrag  r'  epag-dg  rrjod'  rrjg  X'^P^C  ^X^'-^- 

Why  should  you  think  it  so  wonderful  that  one  man  should  have 
some  curiosity  in  regard  to  things  for  which  all  men  have  so  great 
admiration  1  Of  a  surety,  you  are  the  most  modest  of  Editors. 
And  then  consider,  man,"  added  he,  in  a  light  tone,  and  turning  the 
bowl  of  his  pipe  towards  the  Ettrick  Shepherd,  "  you  have  many 
loadstones.  Here  am  I  that  would  not  have  grudged  an  inch  of  my 
journey  although  its  sole  recompense  had  been  this  Sicilian  vision." 
The  allusion  was,  no  doubt,  in  chief,  at  least,  to  him  whom  Dr. 
Morris  has-  called  "  the  Bucolie  Jamie" — but  surely  that  vision  must 
have  been  rendered  a  thousandfold  more  interesting  to  the  illustrious 
Grecian,  by  finding  with  what  affectionate  admiration  it  was  already 
regarded  by  the  youthful  but  still  kindred  spirits  of  Seward  of  Christ 
Church,  and  Buller  of  Brazennose.  Seldom,  we  speak  for  ourselves, 
have  we  been  more  unaffectedly  delighted  than  by  the  contemplation 
of  this  hearty  homage  paid  by  these  pure  and  classical  spirits  of  the 
South  to  the  wild  and  romantic  genius  of  the'Nomadic  North.  But 
Hogg  was  made  to  unite  all  men.  In  him  Cam  and  Isis  are  found  to 
worship  the  inspiration  of  the  haunted  Yarrow. 

We  were  very  happy  at  this  moment ;  and  accepting  Seward's  offer 
of  a  segar,  sat  down  to  enjoy  more  at  leisure  the  society  of  this 
interesting  group.  But  sad  was  the  surprise,  and  sudden  the  shock, 
when  looking  round,  we  beheld,  stiff  and  gory  upon  the  sod  beside  us, 
Hector — even  the  faithful  Hector — the  peerless  coUey  of  the  Shep- 
herd ! — "  Ah !  Editor,"  sobbed  the  Bard,  "  wee!  may  your  look  be 
owercast,  when  ye  see  that  waefu'  sight — waes  me!  that  Hector 
should  have  deed;  and  waesomest  of  a',  that  he  should  have  deed  by 
mine  ain  hand."  "  Truly  'tis  a  most  unfortunate  accident  that  has 
occurred,"  said  Seward ;  "  our  friend  here  was  up  with  the  earliest, 
and  had  got  so  far  as  those  black  firs  yonder,  on  his  way  to  the 

Cicero.  He  has  been  called  "the  Brummagen  Johnson,"  for  his  imitation  of  the  Doctor's 
manner  and  conversation.  He  talked  a  great  deal,  with  a  curious  lisp,  and  was  pedantic, 
dictatorial,  and  egotistical.  He  wore  what  was  called  a  buzzwig,  because  Bentley  and  Johnson 
had  been,  so  coveredj  and  he  was,  in  his  time,  the  most  inveterate  smoker  in  England. — M. 

5* 


106  THE  LAST  DAY   OF  THE  TENT.  [Sept. 

ground  ;  but  his  piece  went  off  as  he  was  leaping  a  cut  in  the  heath — 
and  you  see  the  consequences."  "  You're  very  good  to  put  that  face 
on't,  Maister  Sieward,"  murmured  the  poet,  "  but  I'm  no  heedin 
aboot  thae  trifles  the  noo — it  was  na  in  lowping  a  flow,  nor  naething 
o'  that  kind — I  ken  na  hoo  it  fell  out,  but  I  had  taen  just  as  good  an 
aim,  as  I  thought,  as  could  be,  and  a'  wheen  bonny  birds  were  just 
whirring  afore  mine  een,  but  somegait  my  haund  shook — I'll  never 
lippen  til't  nae  mair  an'  beena  with  a  pen  or  a  keelavine — and  I  ludgit 
the  hail  of  my  barrel  in  honest  Hector — Puir  man !  little  did  ye 
think  when  ye  stood  there,  with  your  tail  like  a  ramrod — puir  fallow ! 
— oh !  I'll  never  see  the  like  o'  you."  Here  the  Shepherd's  agitation 
increased  to  such  a  height,  that  he  ceased  to  be  intelligible.  "  Cheer 
up,  my  dear  fellow,"  quoth  Dr.  Parr,  "  cheer  up — humanum  est 
errare — ©swv  to  ■zn'avra  xarop^jjv.  It  is  of  no  use  to  indulge  in  these 
regrets,  now  the  unfortunate  occurrence  has  happened  ;  it  cannot  be 
undone — a  Xpovo^  o  -ztfavrwy  ■sa'aryip.  Eesign  yourself — do  not  prolong 
your  suffering  by  keeping  your  departed  favorite  in  your  view ;  let 
us  bury  Hector,  and  then  your  feelings  may  be  more  gentle,  ixriSsri 
"ciaviTaivs  'so'optfjov — It  is  done; — it  is  done — let  us  dig  the  grave." 
"  Most  willingly,"  cried  Buller  and  Seward  both  together  ;  and  in  a 
few  minutes  the  corpse  of  the  lamented  coUey  was  hid  from  the  eyes 
of  his  master,  by  the  replaced  sod  of  the  wilderness. 

"  And  now,"  says  Parr,  "  must  Hector  lie  there  without  an  epitaph? 
such  ingratitude  would  be  abominable,  a-sro'rjj'Tus'ov  <ti — I  for  one  would 
willingly  furnish  a  modest  inscription  in  Greek — the  only  language 
which  admits  a  perfect  propriety  of  epitaphs  in  verse ;  but  Juniores 
ad  labor es^  I  shall  leave  that  to  my  friend  Buller.  For  vernacular 
szHTupa,  we  may  certainly  trust  the  muse  of  Mr.  Hogg  himself, 
when  he  comes  a  little  n!iore  to  his  recollection."  "  I  can  mak  nae 
epitaphs  the  noo,"  said  the  Shepherd,  in  a  low  trembling  key,  "  I'se 
leave  that  to  them  that  has  met  wi'  nae  loss — puir  Hector !"  so 
saying  he  resumed  his  pipe,  and  retired  to  some  distance  from  our 
company.  "  Let  him  go,"  said  the  doctor,  "  let  him  go  in  silence — 
as  Plato  remarks,  solitude  is  ever  the  best  soother  of  affliction,  in  its 
first  birth  ;  it  is  best,  says  he,  to  walk  apart  Wo^ov  xarazis-^ai,  and  so 
indeed  has  the  poet  represented  Achilles,  after  the  slaughter  of  his 
friend — but  to  your  epitaph." 

Having  furnished  them  with  tablets  and  black  lead  pencils,  we  left 
the  three  Greeks  to  themselves;  and  returning  in  about  half  an  hour, 
to  announce  that  breakfast  would  soon  be  in  readiness,  we  found  Mr. 
Buller  putting  the  last  touches  to  the  elegant  composition,  which  we 
now  insert.  We  wish  the  reader  had  been  there,  to  see  Dr  .Parr's  face 
when  the  modest  Bachelor  of  Brazennose  put  the  paper  into  his  hands.* 

*  What  follo-ws  is  a  clever  parody  on  Parr's  manner  of  editing  a  -work,  or  smothering  the 
text  beneath  an  enormous  quantity  of  Latin  notes.  This  travesty,  by  the  ■way,  shows  great 
ability  in  the  manner  in  which  the  Latin  language  is  familiarly  treated. — M. 


1819.]  hector's  epitaph.  107 

Hogg  returned  just  as  the  doctor  was  preparing  to  read,and  resuming 
his  old  posture,  apparently  a  good  deal  more  composed,  listened  to 
the 

In  Hectora, 
Pastoris  Ettricensis  Sive.  Chald^i  Canem, 

FaTO    PRiEPROPERO  (dUM    (fxO'irCf}  TO^OV  OVX  ScTSpj^Sl*  DOMINUS)  ABREPTUM, 

Carmina  E-Trira^ia. 


'Qg  oiy  a/x^ierrov  racpov  'E/cropof — 

Horn.  II.  w.  804. 

quantum  mutatus  ah  illo 

Hectore,  qui,  dsc.  Virg.  ^n.  ii.  275. 

I. 

''EiKropog\  eifxt  iwvtg,  rov  6r]  KareireipvEV,  otjOtj 

'OTrAa  XafSuv  6  N6//evf,  ij(pe7i'  d  jutjS'  ct'  erjv 
Ovde  Ti  fj.01  xpatofiTjaev,  avovrarog^  tov  ye,  'Neirijpov 
BaKuv  ov  yap  eyu  arrjdeatv  a/if  E<popovv. 

II. 
Q,  ^Eiv',  ayyzikov  Yia\t6-{af')-oviotg,\  brt  rySs 
Ketfiai,  Tov  KTeivev  TrTjurovofxevg^  avoftug. 


NOT^. 
I. 

Cum  mos  dudum  apud  omnes  hujuseemodi  in  rebus  versatos  invaluerit,  poematiis 
■ — sive  suis,  sive  aliorum — notas  versibus  plus  niniio  longiores  attexendi,  mihi 
quoque  eorum  exemplis  obseeuto  aliquantillum  in  eonimentando  excurrere  visum 
est.  Versus  nempe  ipsi,  utpote  miuoris  pretii,  eeu  paxilli  tantum  deinceps  sunt 
reputandi,  quibus  annotationes  (livoris  nonnunquam,  saepius  eruditionis  ostentandse 
gratia)  omni  scibili  refertse  appendantur. 

*  Pind.  01.  ii.  160.  Accuratius  scilicet  Pastor  ille,  et  cantare  et  respondere 
paratus, 

— Tiva  ^alTiEi 
E/c  jiaWaKag  avre  (ppe — 
vog  evKXeag  oi^ovg 
letg. 

Sclopporum  quippe  glande  et  pulveve  nitrato  (ut  cum  lexicographis  loquar) 
oneratorum  imperitus  sinistram  libri,  ad  quem  colliueabatur,  paginam  ne  vel 
unico'plumbi  grano  penetravit.  Videsis  non  semel  laudand.  Blaekw.  Magaz. 
xxix.  600.  Dextra  ejusdem  libri  pagina  ne  ab  ullo  jaculantium  Isederetur,  in 
causa  fuit  Neperi  Dissertatio,  de  qua  infra  copiosius.  De  Nepero  ipso,  quicquid 
contra  oblatrent  cynici,  sermone  proverbial!  tuto  est  pronunciandum,  "  he  has  saved 
his  Bacon." 

f  Hsec  appellatio  quam  prob6  cani  Scotieo  eonveniat,  documento  sit  Swiftii  S. 
T.  P.  et  S.  P.  D.  apud  Hibernos  perjucunda  ilia  de  Vocabulis  Veterum  Disquisitio ; 
in  qu^  Hectoris  conjugem  Andromachen  Caledonii  cujusdam  nobilis,  Andrew 
Mackay,  certo  certius  filiam  fuisse  contendit.  Quidui  ergo  et  viri  nomen  ejusdem 
quoque  pati-ise  sit  ?  Gaudent  quippe  Scotigeuse  Trojanorum  nominibus.  Vixit 
baud  ita  pridem  Hector  Monro  :  vivit  bodie,  ut  ex  Actis  Diurnis  conjicere  licet, 
Leopoldi  Pi-incipis  Illustrissimi  bospes,  .^ueas  Mackintosh ;  synonymique  plures 


108  THE  LAST  DAY  OF  THE  TENT. 


[Sept. 


avidpoTt  in  Scotia  reperiri  possuut.  Pace  vero  tanti  viri  dixerim,  nonnihil  me  in 
etymo,  hack'd  and  tore,  nbi  copula  and  vTrepavlXaScd^  redundet,  solitee  ejus  subti- 
litatis  desiderare.  Melius  forsan,  quia  ad  linguae  Scoticffi  genium  accommodatius, 
"Heck  !  tore  /"  lacerum  quippe  herois  corpus  conteniplantis  cujusdam  exclaniatio, 
rationem  nominis  redderet.  Exemplis  item  (ut  hoc  obiter  moneam)  a  SwifHo 
allatis,  plui'ima  quivis  cito  addiderit :  e,  g.  Charon,  qu.  carry-on ;  Cerberus, 
"/Sir,  bear  {\.Q.  endure) ms,"  ^nea  sicmonstrum  iJlud  rpi/cap;;!-©!^  inter  transeundum 
blandius  eompellante,  &c.  (fee, 

2we/cdo;t;i/cwf  quoque,  cum  Hectora  saepius  Mseonides  vocaverit  Troifxeva  "kauyv-, 
pastoris  canis  praeclai-o  illo  nomine  ornari  posset. 

X  Neperi  de  Bacone  rw  avsrarcj  dissertationem  cum  ipse,  quae  mea  est  infelici- 
tas!  non  perlegerim,  valde  dubito  utrum  nan  vulneratum  (vulcaniis  quippe  annis 
contectum)  an  no7i  penetratum  interpretari  debeam.  Lucem  forsan  voei  afFundet 
quod  de  eo  Christophorus  Noster,  in  Blackw.  Mag.  ib.,  posteris  prodidit;  such  im- 
penetrable stuff  it  proved  to  be.  Quicquid  vero  de  eo  sit  statuendum,  mali  pro- 
pulsatorem  Baeonera  non  adfuisse  jure  miretur  aliquis,  cum  inter  ejus  Pastorisque 
Ettricensis  nomen  (Hogg)  necessitudo  aretior  intercedet ;  quod  tamen  elarissimum 
illud  philosophiae  decus  pernegasse,  Hoggio  quodam  per  collum  mox  suspendendo 
ad  miserationem  movendam  strenue  aflSrmante,  ceL  Josephus  Millerus  lepida  sane 
(ut  saepe)  narratiuncul^  scriptis  consignavit:  "-d  Hog,  till  it  is  hung,  is  not 
Bacon." 

Verbosiorem  esse  de  qua  agitur  dissertationem,  nee  tuto  vigilare  cupientibus 
sub  noctem  in  manus  sumeudam  queruntur  multi;  quod  profeeto  vel  nominis  ejus 
praenominisque  syllabae  primae  fatali  quadam  conspiratione  praenotare  videntur, 
cum  MAC  a  jUGKo^  Dor.  pro  jj.rjKog  derivetur,  et  nap  Anglice  somnum  sonet,  ne  Ma- 
zeppae  quidem  ipsius  (utpote  longioris)  auditoribus,  si  poetae  testi  eredamus,  evi- 
tandum.     The  king  had  been  an  hour  asleep. 

Lectorem  non  fugerit,  quibus  verbis  Hectora  ab  Ajaee  pei'cussum  Homerus,  II. 
^'.  417,  (fee,  designaverit,  quei'cui  ilium  vnai  ^nrrjg  narpog  Aiog  cadenti  assimilans, 

vernaculaque  plane  (quod  nulli  non  suboluerit)  figura  addens, deivr/  6e  ■&eeiov 

■yiverai  odfirj. 

II. 
1  Olim  legebatur, 

'i2  ^ELv',  ayCeiKov  AaKedaifiovioLg,  6ti  fjjSe 
KEi/j,e-&a,  rote  HEtvcdv  iretd^o/Lievoi  vo/ntjuoic. 
Hoc,  quoad  ductum  literarum  caeteraque  in  conjecturis  criticis  observari  sueta, 
quam  prope  quod  in  textu  dedimus  Epigramma  contingit ! 

En  artem,  qua  ad  doloris  acriias  urgentis  vim  plene  exprimendam  tmesi  facta, 
atque  ploi-antis  syllaba  AI  in  medio  vocabulo  inserta,  poeta  tantum  non  in  fletuni 
secum  legentes  abi-ipiat!  Decantatum  istud  de  Matilda  Pottinger  poema,  in  quo, 
nuUo  ad  affectum  respectu  habito,  o/ioioTelevTb  (Anglic^  Rhyme)  efficiendi  causa 
verba  quaedam  intercisa  sunt :  e.  g. 

Thou  wast  the  daughter  of  my  Tu- 
tor, Law  Professor  at  the  U- 
niversity,  (fee.  (Rovers.) 

quanto  hoc  nostrum  exsuperat !  Vehementioris  scilicet  est  luctus  voeulara  quam 
sententiam  discindee'e ;  ideoque,  me  judice,  AI  istud  patheticum  omnibus  veterum 
Tragicorum  ejulatibus,  e,  e,  e,  otototol,  otototol,  (fee.  narrationis  cursum  impedi- 
entibus  merito  est  anteponendum. 

Primae  vocum  partes,  Kuke  et  KaAe  faeillime  inter  se  permutari  posse  quis  non 
videt  ?  neu  mihi  vitio  verterit  quisquam  (Buchanano  Junioque  auctoribus  fretus, 
quorum  hie  'K.al'qdovig  rj  ;:i;api£acya,  ille  Npnpha  Caledonias,  &.c.  scriptum  reliquit) 
me  non  per  rj  secundam  syllabam  in  KaTiEdoviotg  extulisse.     Nullus  enim  dubitat 


1819.] 


109 


quin  id  metri  ne;cessitati,  eodem  quo  in  a'&avarog  cseterisque  ejusdem  farinas  ver- 
bis inodo  prima  syllaba  producitur,  aeceptum  referii  debeat.  Id  si  non  satis 
placeat,  legat,  per  me  licet,  a-yfeiTiov  av  Ka/iridovtoig,  Veneresque  omnes  in  vocula 
ilia  simplice  AI  delitescentes  uno  quasi  ietu  Caligula  alter  sustulerit. 

§  Vocem  TTTjKTovo/xevg  non  alias  occurrere  si  quis  objeceit,  is  velim  secum  repu- 
tet,  quot  veterum  libri  in  quibus  forsan  erat  reperienda  omuino  perierint ;  nee 
fistula  canentem  pastorem  verbo  ad  sensum  aptiori  describi  potuisse.  TlrjKTLda 
quippe  musicorum  instrumentum  pecten  esse  vel  tyronibus  notum  est. 

Cum  vero  pastoribus  septentrionalibus  oves  non  solum  pascere  sed  etiara  ton- 
dere  moris  sit,  legant  fortassis  alii  (vulgatae  lectioni,  ut  mihi  quidem  videtur,  uimis 
arete  insistentes)  TretKovo/Ltevg. 

Hsec  dum  avroaxESta^ovrog  more  effunderem  distichon,  quoddam  mihi  in  men- 
tem  venit,  pace  tua,  lector,  leviter  emendandum  : 

Mfjdev  ajiapTSLv  eg-t  Qeov,  Kat  ■navra  Karop'&ovv 
Ei^  jSioTTj,  [lotpav  6'  ovTi  ^vyeiv  ETzopev, 

Hsec  ita  correxeris : 

M.r)6e  Maparruv  eart  dsuvrcjv  Ttavra  Karop'&ovv 
'E/j,6aTeo)v.     Mocpav  y'  ovrt  ^vyetv  ercopev. 

Quis  hie  poetam  de  rebus  nuperrime  in  India  gestis  vaticinantem  non  depre- 
henderit  ?  nonien  ipsum  habes  Marchionis  illius,  quem  dueem  Scotia  nostra  pau- 
eos  abhine  annos  suspexit,  equitatus  jam  nunc  Mahrattici  hac  iliac  discurrentis 
victorem  Britannia  omnis  suaque  ipsius  lerne  demii'atur. 

Aliud  item,  ne  diutius  te  teueam,  poetse  e  longinquo  quid  esset  futurum  pros- 
picientis  exemplum  aceipe  ;  Drydeui  uempe  versus  biuos,  in  quibus  homuneulos 
vulgo  dietos  Spa-Fields  Reformers,  ductoremque  eorum  famosum,  quasi  nomina- 
tim  designat: 

Better  to  hunt  ixi  fields  for  health  unhought, 
Than  fee  the  doctor  for  a  nauseous  draught. 

ubi  rcj  corruption  opponitur  vox  health,  eodem  plane  sensu  quo  sahis  populi  su- 
prema  lex  esse  dicitur ;  to  unbought  venum  exposita  sufFragia  taogit ;  the  doctor 
procerem  quemdam,  ut  ita  dicam,  with  cunning  (Qu  ?  Canniug)  finger  indigitat ; 
TO  draught  denique  (sono  quidem  atque  Metaphora  juxta  neglectis)  res  serarii' 
forsan  subobscure  respicit,  nisi — quod  vix  tamen  crediderim — Huntii  eerevisiam 
faliacibus  olim  veneni  herbis  coneoctam  vates  innuat.  Videaut  Angli  annon  eun- 
dem  quem  antea  potum  plebi  propinandum  6  wavv  ofFerat.* 

N'eque  si  etymis  uonnuuquam  primo  viso  tantum  non  ridendis  usus  esse  videar, 
suecensebunt  mihi  qui  Bryantii  tov  jxaaapLTov,  aliorumque  6  sectatoribus  ejus 
tomos  pervolverint ;  qualia  sunt,  e.  g.,  quae  sequuntur. 

*  If  Mr.  Buller  had  passed  from  the  Brewer  to  the  Sportsman,  he  would  have  found  Henry 
Hunt,  in  one  of  his  late  letters,  complaining  of  his  Lancaster  treatment — expressing  himself 
thus,  "a  week's  shooting  at  Middleton  cottage  will  set  all  to  rights."  In  the  meantime,  we 
find  him  about  to  pass  through  London  on  his  way,  prepared,  we  suppose,  in  illustration  of  this 
expression,  like  another  Xerxes  with  his  myriads— xj^iicJe  rrjv  'Ko'kiV  drjpaaai  (^schyl.  Pers. 
238),  not,  however,  it  may  be  feared,  with  the  view  of  rendering  it  BacTtAet  IVJTIKOOC,  (Ibid.) 
The  word  oTjpacaL,  besides  its  obvious  allusion,  furnishes  one  of  those  deep  and  hidden  senses 
which  escape  the  vulgar  eye.  We  may  take  its  meaning  from  Herodotus  aayavevaai  Tag 
avOpuzsag  Ihtov  tov  rpomov.  avrjp  avdpog  aipajievog  rrjg  X^i-P^^  (could  there  be  a  more 
distinct  enunciation  of  what  took  place  on  the  advent  of  the  Great  Known  at  Manchester?) 
<Jm  uaarjg  Tijg  vijOH  duWtiaL  eKdrjpevovTeg  Tug  avdpoirovg  (vi.  31.)  But  we  are  becom- 
ing quite  a  Buller.— C.  N. 


110  THE   LAST   DAY   OF   THE   TENT.  [Sept 

Idem  valere  adagia,  eirt  tov  6vaxEp£(yc  kcl  (SlaSepoig  ernxEcpovvTov  dicta, 

1.  Ai|  T7]v  jiaxcLLpav, 

2.  KopuvTj  TOV  aKoprrtov, 

3.  Avayvpov  Kiveiv, 

4.  Ignes  suppositi  cineri  doloso, 

5.  Te(l>pij  Tzvp  vTTO'&aXTrofj.evov)  et 

6.  Aeovra  vvaasiv, 

apud  Paroemiographum  quemdam  olitn  legisse  me  memini.  Hoc  ita  esse,  vide, 
lector,  quomodo  ipse  paucis  leviter  immutatis,  via  (ni  multum  fallor)  baud  antd 
tritd  probatum  iverim. 

1.  Lege  itaque,  leni  in  aspemm  verso,  'Aiir  rrjv  /uaxaipav  (hay  sc.  j.  p.)  et  habes 
nuperum,  de  in  Com.  Laocastr.  tumultum  luce  ipsa  clarius  descriptum.  Nimis 
forsan  esset  verbum  premere,  si  in  rw  Waxaipav  Mane.  Iron  delitescere  me  suspi- 
cari  affirmarem ;  semi-graecisset  licet  lingua  anglicana,  et  vox  eTrtxsipovvrtJv  sic 
tandem  propria  sua  siguificatione  gavisura  esse  videatur — Militum  quippe  Man- 
cuniensiufn  enses,  qui  quam  fuerint  SvaxEpEi-c  Kat  (Sla6epQi  omnibus  fere,  a  qua- 
cunque  demum  parte  stent,  in  ore  versatur. 

2.  KopovTj  TOV  GKopiTLOv  quid  sibi  velit,  jure  quis  dubitare  possit.  Addito  p 
solum  omnis  statim  difficultas  e  medio  toUitur.  Kopuvrjp  {Batty,  the  Coroner)  tov 
oKopTvtov,  quem  noxium  quoddam  animal  esse  (Qu  ?  Angl,  a  Harmer)  quis  non 
videt  ? 

3.  Avayvpov  klvelv,  quod  in  Aristophane  occurrit,  vix  ipse,  senigmatum  hujusmodi 
apud  recentiores  ^dipus,  Erasmus  expediverit ;  cum  anagyrum  genium  quoddam 
fuisse  harioletur,  qui  propter  violatum  ejus  sacellum  viciuos  omnes  funditus  ever- 
tit !  apage  :  non  placet.  Ego  Travrjyvptv  lego,  sc.  to  disperse  a  Manchester  mob — 
utrum  ev  KeifiEvov  (i.  e.  well-disposed)  anon,  penes  alios  judicium  est  futurum. 

4.  Vice  Cineri  substituas  "fineri,"  pro  Finerty  (hoc  enim,  quod  aiunt  nostrates, 
Jits  to  a  T ;)  et  planum  fit  omne,  in  quo  antea  ob  tenebras  circumfusas  offendebatur. 

5.  Tecpprj  interpreteris,  peue  ad  literam,  The  Free. 

6.  Deuique  AeovTa  vvaaetv  quid  proprie  sit,  non  satis  liquet :  nisi  per  aphsere- 
sin  pro  NaTroXeovTa  fuerit  dictum,  quem  inter  prospera  quidem  pupugisse  non 
temere  quivis  ausus  esset.  Hujus  ceram  qua,  dum  fortuna  fuit,  iuimici  damnaban- 
tur,  vere  notavit  Ovidius ;  utpote  quam 

de  longce  collectam  flore  cicutce 

Melle  sub  infami  Corsica  misit  apis* 
N'onne  jam  vides.  ut  base  omnia  inter  se  concinant  ? 
SED  MANUM  QXJOD  AIUNT  DE  TABULA. 

These  lucubrations  seemed  to  produce  the  happiest  effect  in  the 
wounded  spirit  of  the  Shepherd.  The  grand  solemn  note  in  which 
the  Doctor  recited  the  beautiful  Greek  lines  themselves  riveted  his 
attention,  and  delighted  (how  could  it  be  otherwise  1)  his  ear.  But 
whether  it  was  the  physiognomy  of  the  Doctor,  or  his  voice,  or  his 
gesture,  or  all  together,  we  know  not.  This  much  is  certain,  that  the 
Shepherd  seemed  to  be  amused,  at  least,  as  much  as  any  of  us  with 
the  Notae.  The  two  or  three  vernacular  vocables  introduced  afforded, 
perhaps,  some  little  clue  of  the  purport  of  the  annotations — at  all 
events,  he  laughed  considerably  every  time  that  Greek  proper  name 
Ns^i^poj  was  repeated  in  any  of  its  cases.     At  the  end  he  withdrew 

*  Anne  hie  ad  Apin,  Deum,  sc.  .Sgyptiorum,  qualem  se  Dux  iste  Gallorum.  impie  professus 
est,  alluditur  1— S.  P. 


1S19.]  TIMS    SHOOTS   DR.    PAEk's    WIG.  •  111 

arm  in  arm  with  Seward,  probably  in  hopes  of  obtaining  from  him  a 
more  accurate  account  of  what  had  been  said  by  Mr.  Buller  about 
himself — his  dog — and  the  transactions  of  the  Royal  Society.  We 
overheard  him  saying,  after  a  few  minutes  of  colloquy  with  his  oracle, 
and  after  three  or  four  portentous  cackles  of  returning  merriment, 
"  Od^  man,  the  warst  o't  is,  that  the  creature  would  never  understand 
a  line  o't,  even  it  was  put  intill  the  Magazine — Lord  safe>  ye!  he 
kens  nae  mair  about  Greek  than  mysel.  There's  some  o'  thae  kind 
o'  literary  chiels  about  Edinburgh,  that  writes  themselves  esquires, 
and  editors,  and  a'  the  lave  o't,  and  yet  kens  very  little  mair,  to  ca' 
kenning  really — than  a  puir  herd  like  what  I  was  mysel — they're 
blathering  skytes  a  wheen  o'  them  ;  neither  genius  nor  learning — it's 
nae  meikle  wonder  they  mak  but  a  puir  hand  o't."  "  Pooh  !"  said 
Seward,  "  he'll  get  somebody  to  translate  it  for  him." — "  Go'  aye," 
quoth  Hogg,  "gie  Gray  or  Dunbar  a  dictionary,  and  a  day  or  twa 
to  consider  o't,  and  I  daur  say  they'll  be  able  to  gie  him  some  ink- 
ling— but  I  was  clean  forgetting  mysel,  he  has  naething  to  do,  but  to 
gang  oureby  and  speer  at  Professor  Christisin — that  Professor,  they 
say,  is  a  real  scholar;^  he'll  interpret  it  as  glegg  as  ye  like. — But 
Losh  keep  us  a',  there's  Tims  coming  hame  aw  by  his  lain,  and  what's 
that  he  has  gotten  on  the  end  o'  his  gun  f 

Looking  round  in  the  direction  indicated  by  Theocritus,  we  descried 
the  Cockney  at  the  distance  of  about  100  yards,  advancing  in  a  slow 
and  dignified  pace  ;  his  piece  carried  high  over  his  shoulders,  and  on 
the  summit  thereof  a  something,  the  genius  and  species  of  which  were 
at  this  distance  alike  mysterious.  "  What  the  deel's  that  ye've  got- 
ten, callan  !"  cried  the  Shepherd  (who,  by-the-way,  had  all  along 
treated  Tims  and  Price  with  unsufferable  indelicacy).  "  My  man, 
ye've  had  a  fine  morning's  sport — Is  that  a  dead  cat  or  a  dirty  sark 
ye're  bringing  haim  wi'  ye  f  "  God  knows  what  it  is,"  said  the 
liOndoner,  "  or  rather  whose  it  is,  for  I  believe,  upon  my  honor,  'tis  a 
parson's  wig — but  I  thought  it  was  a  ptarmigan,  sitting  on  the  bough 
of  that  there  tree  by  the  river  side,  and  I  brought  it  down  ;  but 
demme  if  it  be'nt  a  wig." — "  You  good-for-nothing  little  pert  jacka- 
napes," vociferated  Parr — "  You  believe  it  to  be  a  wig  !  and  you 
took  it  to  be  a  ptarmigan."  .  .  .  .  "  Come,  come  now.  Doctor,"  inter- 
rupted the  Shepherd,  "  ye  mauna  be  owre  hard  on  an  inexperienced 
callant — Preserve  us  a' !  that  beats  all  the  wigs  that  ever  I  saw ! 
Lord !  what  a  gruzzle  !"....  Here  the  burst  of  laughter  was  such, 
that  Dr.  Parr  found  himself  compelled  to  join  in  the  roar  ;  and  after 
the  first  peal  was  over,  he  begged  pardon  of  the  Cockney  for  the 
harsh  terms  he  had  employed  in  the  most  good-tempered  style 
in  the  world.     He  of  Ludgate  Hill  was  sorely  crest-fallen,  but  he 

*Dr.  Christison,  one  of  the  Professors  in  the  Faculty  of  Medicine  in  Edinburgh  Univer- 
sity.—M. 


112  THE   LAST   DAT   OF  THE   TENT.  [Sept. 

harbored  no  resentment,  and  all  was  soon  peace  and  harmony. 
"  This  beats  old  Routh's  quite  to  nothing,  Buller,"  said  Seward — 
"  Egad,  Seward,"  cries  Buller,  "  there  might  be  a  blackbird's  nest  in 
every  curl,  and  a  rookery  in  the  top  frizzle.  Burton's  is  but  a  baga- 
telle to  this." — "Enough,  enough,  my  young  friends,"  quoth  the 
Doctor  ;  "  my  wig  was  pilloried  long  ago  in  the  Edinburgh  Review 
by  Sidney  Smith :  it  has  now  been  shot  through,  and  that  by  Mr. 
Tims,  on  the  banks  of  the  Dee ;  surely  it  is  high  time  to  give  up  its 
persecution. — Leave  it,  leave  it,  to  repose."  "  But  hoo,  in  the  name 
of  wonder,"  cried  Hogg,  "did  ye  come  to  leave  your  wig  in^the 
bough  o'  a  fir-tree- — what  in  a  daft  like  doing  was  that  f — "  Why, 
Mr.  Hogg,"  answered  the  Bellendenian,  with  wonderful  suavity, 
"  when  you're  as  old  a  man  as  I  am,  your  faculties  will  not  perhaps 
be  quite  so  alert  on  all  occasions ;  you  will  perhaps  learn  to  make 
blunders  then  as  well  as  your  neighbors.  Be  merciful,  most  illus- 
trious Shepherd ;  I  stripped  myself,  about  two  hours  ago,  to  bathe  in 
this  beautiful  river  of  yours,  and  hung  my  wig  on  the  tree  that  was 
nearest  me ;  I  forgot  to  take  it  down  when  my  bath  was  over,  and 
you  see  the  consequence.  Let's  say  no  more  about  the  matter,  xaxov 
Bb  xsifjLSvov  Mr.  Seward." — "  Yes,  yes,"  cried  Buller,  "  [t.r\  xivsi — fAT) 
xivsi."  Dr.  Morris's  servant  was  at  hand ;  at  our  suggestion  the 
periwig  was  intrusted  to  his  care,  and  in  a  few  minutes  it  made  its 
appearance  on  the  sinister  hand  of  that  accomplished  valet,  in  full 
puff  and  fuzz,  apparently  blooming  only  the  more  vigorously  from 
the  loppings  it  had  sustained. 

Fifteen  years  ago,  when  James  Hogg  was  tending  sheep  on  the 
hills  of  Ettrick,  what  would  a  judicious  person  have  thought  of  the 
man,  who  should  have  predicted,  that  the  Shepherd  was  destined,  in 
the  book  of  fate,  or  some  future  day,  to  replace  "  the  fxs/a  ^aufi-a  of 
the  literary  world"  on  the  head  of  the  eulogist  of  the  "  Tria  lumina 
Anglorum  1"*  Yet,  with  our  own  eyes  have  we  beheld  this  thing. 
Dr.  Parr  "  stooped  his  anointed  head"  to  the  author  of  the  Queen's 
Wake,  and  that  genuine  bucolic,  taking  the  wig  from  the  hand  of 
Tims,  placed  it  with  all  the  native  dexterity  of  a  man  of  genius,  on 
the  brows  of  Philopatris  Varvicensis.f  "  Ma  A»a,"  cries  the  Pre- 
bendary, "  the  old  reproach,  THoXv&pvXkriTov  illud  ;  the  Boiwtjo^  vs  has 
been  nobly  wiped  away  by  this  unlearned  Theban.  To  speak  with 
the  immortal  Casaubon,  "  Talia  quis  non  amisisse  vellet,  per  te  deni- 
que,  vir  egregi  recuperaturus."     This  weighty  matter  having  been 

*  So  Burke,  Lord  North,  and  Charles  James  Fox  were  designated,  in  Parr's  Preface  to  Bellen- 
denus,  who— and  this  is  mentioned  for  the  special  benefit  of  "  the  country  gentleman,"  was  Wil- 
liam Bellenden,  a  native  of  Scotland,  who  was  educated  at  Paris,  where  he  was  Professor  of 
Belles-Lettres  in  1G02.  He  wrote  a  work  called  Cicero  Princeps,  which  was  publi.-<hed  in 
1608,  and  afterwards  included  in  his  Bellendenus  de  Statu,  which  Parr  partly  edited  in 
1787.— M. 

t  Parr's  residence,  at  Hatton,  in  Warwickshire,  was  about  eighteen  miles  from  Birmingham, 
and  he  published  his  Character  of  Fox  under  the  nom-de-plume  of  Philopatris  Varvicensis.— M. 


1819.]  BREAKFAST.  113 

adjusted,  we  bowed  the  illustrious  scholar  into  our  Tent,  and  sat 
down  at  the  head  of  the  breakfast-table,  with  Dr.  Parr  on  our  right, 
and  James  Hogg  on  our  left  hand.  Buller  supported  the  preacher 
of  the  Spittal  sermon,*  and  Seward  was  still  the  "  fidus  Achates"  of 
the  bard  of  Yarrow.  At  some  distance  sat  Tims  eyeing  the  rein- 
stated wig,  and  mentally  calculating  the  number  of  grains  of  shot 
which  it  now  contained  ;  for,  unlike  a  certain  paper  in  the  transac- 
tions of  the  Royal  Society  of  Edinburgh,  it  was  not  made  of  impene- 
trable stuff.  We  are  rusty  in  our  Greek  now-a-days,  and  could  not 
help  wishing  that  Dr.  Search,  that  truly  attic  wit,  had  been  present 
to  whisper  into  our  willing  ear  a  little  of  his  profound  erudition.  But 
we  soon  found,  that  at  breakfast  a  great  scholar,  like  o  -ztfappo^,  rightly 
deemed  that  he  had  something  else  before  him  than  Greek  roots, 
and  that  the  pleasantest  of  all  tongues  is  that  of  the  rein-deer.  The 
Doctor  is  evidently  not  a  man  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  his  bread  and 
butter ;  and  though  we,  Buller,  and  Hogg,  ran  him  hard,  he  at  last 
gained  the  plate.  A  Highland  breakfast  is  sometimes  too  heavy  a 
meal ;  and  the  board  is  inelegantly  crowded.  But  on  the  present  oc- 
casion, we  took  for  our  guidance  the  old  adage. 

Est  modus  in  rebus,  sunt  certi  denique  fines, 

and  ordered  John  Mackay  on  no  account  whatever  to  put  on  the 
table  anything  more  than  a  couple  of  dozen  of  eggs,  a  mutton  ham,  a 
tongue,  a  cut  of  cold  salmon,  a  small  venison  pasty,  some  fresh  her- 
rings, a  few  Finnan  baddies,  a  quartern  loaf,  oatmeal  cakes,  pease 
scones,  barley  bannocks,  honey,  jelly,  jam,  and  marmalade ;  so  that 
one's  attention  was  not  likely  to  be  distracted  by  a  multiplicity  of 
objects,  and  we  all  knew  at  once  where  to  lay  our  hand  on  something 
comfortable.  "  Hah  !  Buller,  you  dog,"  said  the  Doctor,  between 
two  enormous  mouthfuls  of  broiled  herring,  superbly  seasoned,  under 
the  guidance  of  our  master  Celt,  with  Harvey  sauce  and  Cayenne, 
'"'-jentaculum  mehercule  ipsi  Montatio  ipsi  Cripso  invidendumy 
"  What  say  you,  you  dog  1 

•    'Such  food  is  fit  for  disembodied  spirits.' 

Good  eating  is  not  confined,  as  of  old,  intra  centesimum  lapidemP^ 
A  long  and  animated  discussion  ensued  concerning  the  comparative 
merits  of  Rutupian  and  Kentish,  or  Gauran  Mullets — a  favorite 
breakfast  dish  it  seems  with  the  Emperor  Vitellius.  When  this  was 
beginning  to  wax  a  little  less  vehement,  and  Parr  had  at  last  put  his 

*  There  has  long  existed  an  endowment  for  having  a  sermon  annually  preached  in  Christ- 
Church,  Newgate-street,  London.  This,  which  is  called  the  Spittal  Sermon,  from  the  name  of 
the  person  who  bequeathed  the  amount,  from  which  payment  is  made  to  the  preacher,  was  de- 
livered by  Dr.  Parr  in  lyOO,  and  published  by  him  soon  after,  with  voluminous  notes.  Parr, 
who  was  desultory  in  his  writings,  contrived  to  drag  in  Godwin's  Political  Justice,  which  then 
had  recently  been  published  ;  and  having  attacked  it,  brought  down  upon  himself  a  pamphlet, 
by  Mr.  Godwin,  in  which  the  divine  was  treated  with  less  ceremony  than  he  conceived  him- 
self entitled  to.— M. 


114  THE  LAST  DAY   OF  THE  TENT.  [Sept. 

tea-spoon  into  his  seventh  cup,  to  show  that  he  had  given  in ;  a  loud 
noise  was  heard  of  shouting  voices,  and  echoing  bugles  ;  so,  running 
hastily  into  the  open  air,  we  beheld  a  sight  worthy  of  the  mountains. 
The  Thane,  with  his  usual  fine  taste,  had,  by  sunrise,  escorted  Prince 
Leopold*  to  the  forest,  that  he  might  partake  of  the 

Wild  mirth  of  the  desert,  fit  pastime  for  kings. 

And  now  many  a  hill-side  was  gleaming  with  his  Celtic  tenantry 

"  All  plaided  and  plumed  in  their  tartan  array," 

when  a  magnificent  stag  came  bounding  along,  close  by  the  Tent, 
pressed  hard  by  those  enormous  hounds  whose  race  is  not  yet  extinct 
in  the  Highlands,  and  whose  fierce  and  savage  career  in  the  chase 
carries  back  the  mind  to  remote  ages, 

"■  When  the  hunter  of  deer  and  the  warrior  trod 
O'er  his  hills  that  encircle  the  sea." 

As  the  "  desert-boon"  went  by, 

"  Wafting  up  his  own  mountains  that  far-beaming  head," 

the  heather  was  stained  with  his  blood,  for  had  he  not  been  wounded 
he  would  soon  have  distanced  his  pursuers.  It  was  delightful  to 
observe  the  enthusiasm  of  the  fine  old  man,  when  all  the  wild  pomp 
of  this  mountain -chase  hurried  tumultuously  by — and  to  hear  with 
what  energy  he  repeated  some  of  those  majestic  lines  of  Virgil, 
descriptive  of  that  hunt  where  Dido  and  ^Eneas  shone. 

The  feelings  of  Seward  found  quite  a  different  form  of  expression. 
A  fine  animal  by  Diana — "  demme,  Buller,  if  the  scoundrel  has  not 
the  horns  of  an  Alderman."  Tims  startled  at  this  simile,  but  said 
nothing,  and  probably  relapsed  into  a  dream  of  the  Epping-Hunt,  at 
which  the  stag  is  very  conveniently  made  to  jump  out  of  the  hinder 
parts  of  a  wagon.  Price  joined  the  rout  in  his  Surrey  cap,  and  gave 
the  whoop-holla  with  the  lungs  of  a  stentor,  while  Seward  continued : 
"  The  Duke  of  Beaufort's  hounds  used  to  run  down  old  Reynard, 

*  Prince  Leopold,  of  Saxe-Coburff,  now  King  of  the  Belgians,  really  was  in  Scotland  in 
September,  1819.  He  visited  Sir  Walter  Scott,  at  Abbotsford.  There  is  an  amusing  account, 
in  one  of  Scott's  letters  to  Lord  Montagu,  of  the  domestic  anxiety  which  this  visit  caused  at 
Abbotsford.  The  Prince,  it  seems,  had  come  from  Edinburgh  to  see  "  fair  Melrose,"  which  is 
close  by  the  town  of  Selkirk.  Scott,  who  was  Sheriff  of  the  county,  attended  at  Selkirk  to  do 
the  honors.  "  The  Prince  very  civilly  told  me,"  said  he,  "  that,  though  he  could  not  see  Mel- 
rose on  this  occasion,  he  wished  to  come  to  Abbotsford  for  an  hour."  There  was  no  declining 
the  visit,  but  "  a  domiciliary  search  for  cold  meat,  through  the  whole  city  of  Selkirk,  produced 
one  shoulder  of  cold  lamb."  However,  with  broiled  salmon,  and  black  cock,  and  partridges,  a 
lunch  was  made  out,  and  Scott  adds  :  "  I  chanced  to  have  some  very  fine  old  hock,  which  was 
mighty  germane  to  the  matter."  In  1819  much  sympathy  was  felt  for  Prince  Leopold.  In 
May,  1816,  he  had  married  the  Princess  Charlotte,  daughter  of  George  IV.,  who  had  fallen  in 
love  with  him  at  a  time  when  his  worldly  property  was  only  £3U0  a  year.  They  lived  most 
happily  until  November,  1817,  when  the  Princess  Charlotte  unexpectedly  died,  after  her  ac- 
couchement. The  national  grief  for  her  loss  was  deep  beyond  parallel,  and  great  was  the  sym- 
Eathy  for  Leopold  in  his  bereavement.  The  marriage  of  the  late  Duke  of  Kent  with  Prince 
leopold's  sister  (of  which  Q,ueen  Victoria  is  the  sole  surviving  issue)  would  probably  not  have 
taken  place  (in  1818),  if  there  had  not  been  the  previous  family  connexion  created,  by  the 
iPrincess  Charlotte's  union  with  Leopold. — M. 


1819.]  PEiNCE  Leopold's  visit.  115 

breast-high  all  the  time,  in  twenty  minutes — and  Parson  Simmons' 
pack  were  not  so  much  amiss,  though  the  field  indeed  was  rather 
raffish — but  the  Grand  Signor  yonder  would  leave  them  ail  behind 
— poor  devil,  he  is  never  again  to  revisit  his  seraglio." 

All  the  world  has  read  the  Lady  of  the  Lake,  and  he  who  has  for- 
gotten the  description  of  the  Stag-chase  in  that  poem,  may  be  assured, 
that  had  he  been  born  when  mankind  were  in  the  hunter-state,  he 
must  have  died  of  hunger.  It  may  be  just  as  well  not  to  do  over 
again  any  thing  that  it  has  pleased  Walter  Scott  to  do ;  and  there- 
fore, should  any  of  our  readers  be  tired  of  us,  let  them  turn  to  Fitz- 
James  and  his  gallant  Grey.  Now,  as  of  old,  a  Prince  was  on  the 
mountain-side,  and  while  the  wild  cries  of  the  Highlanders  echoed  far 
and  wide,  from  rock  to  rock  over  that  sublime  solitude,  as  every  glen 
sent  pouring  down  its  torrents  of  shouting  hunters,  Leopold  must 
have  felt  the  free  spirit  of  ancient  days  brooding  over  the  desert,  and 
what  true  glory  it  is  to  be  loved  and  honored  by  the  unconquered 
people  of  the  mountains  of  Caledonia. 

The  tumult  at  length  faded  away  far  up  among  the  blue  mists 
that  hung  over  the  solitary  glen  of  the  Liim  of  Dee.  We  found  our- 
selves deserted  in  our  Tent.  Even  Dr.  Parr  had  strayed  away 
among  the  rocks  in  search  of  some  watch-tower,  from  which  he  might 
yet  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  skirts  of  the  vanished  array.  But  the 
noble  Thane  had  not  been  neglectful  of  us.  A  strong  band  of  the 
finest  Highlanders  that  could  be  selected  from  the  population  of  his 
immense  estates,  with  many  too  of  the  Grants  and  Gordons,  came, 
bonnets  waving,  plaids  flying,  and  pipes  sounding,  to  the  Tent,  to 
form  a  guard  of  honor  to  receive  the  Prince,  not  unworthy  the 
flower  of  the  House  of  Saxony.  They  immediately  disposed  them- 
selves in  the  most  picturesque  positions  among  the  wild  scenery 
round  the  Tent — one  band  cresting  a  rocky  eminence  with  a  gorgeous 
diadem  of  scarf  and  plume — another  seen  indistinctly  lying  as  in 
ambush  among  the  high  bloom  of  the  heather — and  a  third,  drawn  up 
as  in  order  of  battle,  to  salute  Leopold  on  his  arrival  with  a  dis- 
charge of  musketry.  Meanwhile  pipes  challenged  pipes,  and  pibrochs 
and  gatherings  resounded  like  subterraneous  music  from  a  hundred 
echoing  hills. 

By  the  munificence  of  the  Thane  our  table  had  been  furnished  up 
with  a  splendor  fit  for  the  reception  of  a  Prince — and  just  as  all  the 
arrangements  were  finished,  we  saw  the  noble  party  descending  a 
steep,  and  advancing  straightway  to  the  Tent.  To  our  delight  and 
astonishment  a  bevy  of  fair  ladies  joined  the  train  ere  it  reached  the 
banks  of  the  Dee ;  and,  as  if  suddenly  built  by  magic,  a  little  plea- 
sure-boat, beautifully  painted,  rose  floating  on  that  transparent  river, 
into  which  Prince,  Lord,  and  Lady,  lightly  stepped,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  they  stood  on  the  greensward  before  our  Tent. 


116  THE   LAST   DAT   OF  THE   TENT.  [Sept 

John  of  Sky — Lord  Fife's  own  piper — and  several  others,  blew  up 
that  well-known  pibroahd  (Phailt  Phrase),  or  Prince's  welcome,  that 
made  the  welkin  ring,  while  two  hundred  Highlanders,  in  the  garb  of 
old  Gaul,  with  bonnets  waving  in  the  air,  gave 

"  That  thrice-repeated  cry, 
In  which  old  Alpin's  heart  and  tongue  unite, 
Whene'er  her  soul  is  up,  and  pulse  beats  high, 
Whether  it  hail  the  wine-cup  or  the  fight. 
And  bid  each  arm  be  strong,  or  bid  each  heart  be  light." 

A  discharge  of  musketry  from  the  guard  of  honor  followed  well  those 
proud  huzzas,  and  when  the  din  ceased,  nothing  was  heard  but  the 
wild  cry  of  the  eagle  wheeling  in  disturbed  circles  far  up  in  the  sky. 

The  Standard-bearer*  advanced  to  receive  Prince  Leopold,  who, 
in  the  most  gracious  manner  declared  what  "  high  satisfaction  it  gave 
him  thus  to  visit  our  Tent,  and  that  he  would  have  the  pleasure  of 
staying  dinner."  Nothing  could  exceed  the  graceful  affability  of  the 
Marchioness  of  Huntlyf  and  her  fair  friends,  who,  after  expressing 
their  delight  with  our  characteristic  reception  of  the  Prince,  and  their 
admiration  of  our  Tent  and  all  its  arrangements,  withdrew  under  the 
protection  of  the  Thane,  who  soon,  however,  returned  again  to  the 
scene  of  festivity.  Every  moment  stragglers  kept  coming  in,  till  the 
whole  party  was  complete,  and  we  sat  down  in  the  Tent  to  a  feast 
which  it  would  be  endless  to  describe,  consisting  of  every  delicacy 
from  air,  flood  and  field,  and  enriched  with  all  generous  and  mighty 
wines  in  cup  and  goblet,  from  the  ancient  catacombs  of  Mar-Lodge. $ 

The  presence  of  our  Illustrious  Guest,  so  justly  dear  to  ♦the 
"soul  of  this  wide  land,"  shed  a  calm  and  dignified  tranquillity 
throughout  the  Tent — and  the  feelings  then  awakened  in  the  hearts  of 
us  all  will  cease  only  when  those  hearts  shall  beat  no  more.  During 
dinner  Prince  Leopold  sat  on  our  right  hand,  and  Lord  Huntly  on 
our  left,  while  Wastle,  who  acted  as  croupier,  had  the  honor  of 
being  supported  by  Baron  Addenbroke  and  the  Thane.  The  Prince, 
the  moment  he  recognized  Dr.  Parr,  requested  him,  with  the  most 
affectionate  respect,  to  sit  by  him;  and  Lord  Huntly, ||  remarking 
that  the  highest  of  all  rank  was  that  conferred  by  genius,  took  the 

*  Odoherty. — M.     t  Now  Duchess  of  Gordon,  residing  at  Huntly  Lodge,  Aberdeenshire. — M. 

X  The  Earl  of  Fife's  Shooting  Lodge.  It  is  close  to  Balmoral,  the  Scottish  residence  of  Queen 
Victoria.— M. 

II  Afterwards  Duke  of  Gordon.  On  his  death,  in  1837,  without  legitimate  male  issue,  the 
Dukedom  and  most  of  the  estates  went  to  his  next-of-kin,  the  present  Duke  of  Richmond,  and  the 
Earl  of  Aboyne,  another  relative,  succeeding  to  his  second  title,  became  Marquis  of  Huntly. 
This  last  was  a  character,  and  died  in  June  1853,  at  the  advanced  age  of  ninety-two,  actually 
continuing  to  the  last,  to  act  as  aide-de-camp  to  the  Queen.  His  affectation  of  youth,  almost  to 
his  dying  day,  was  curious.  The  faded  beau,  described  in  Gil  Bias,  whodaily  rose  an  old  man, 
and  was  made  vp,  after  a  three  hours'  toilette,  into  the  semblance  of  a  young  Lothario,  was 
somewhat  like  the  Marquis  of  Huntly, — who,  however,  even  went  to  the  extremity  of  wearing 
cork  plumpers  in  his  mouth,  to  swell  out  his  cheeks,  which  had  fallen  in  from  age  !  At  the 
age  of  87,  I  saw  him  dance  a  polka,  and  his  affectation  of  juvenility  would  have  been  amusing, 
if,  by  contrast,  it  were  not  almost  painful. — M. 


1819.]  KIT  north's   speech.  117 

Ettrick  Shepherd  by  the  hand,  and  kindly  seated  him  between  him- 
self and  Mr.  Seward.  Every  one,  in  short,  being  proud  and  happy, 
was  placed  to  his  mind — and  time  flew  so  swiftly  by,  that  the  cloth 
was  removed  before  we  had  found  leisure  to  revolve  in  our  mind  a 
few  words  of  address  on  rising  to  propose  the 

Health  of  the  Prince  Regent.* 

"  Little  would  it  coincide  with  our  ideas  of  propriety  to  enlarge  at 
any  considerable  length  upon  topics  not  immediately  suggested  by 
the  proper  object  of  our  meeting,  far  less  upon  any,  concerning  which 
it  might  be  possible  that  any  difference  of  opinion,  or  of  sentiment, 
should  be  found  among  those  who  have  this  day  the  honor  of  being 
assembled  in  this  distinguished  presence.  It  is  not  possible,  however, 
that  we  should  proceed,  in  these  circumstances,  to  propose  the  health 
of  the  actual  sovereign  of  these  islands — the  Prince  Regent  of  Eng- 
land— without  prefacing  a  few  words  concerning  those  rumors  of 
disturbance  and  disaffection,!  of  mad  and  rancorous  outrage  against 
the  peace  of  this  great  empire,  and  of  elaborate  insult  against  all 
those  institutions  by  which  the  prosperity  of  that  empire  has  hitherto 
been  maintained  and  balanced — rumors  which  reach  our  ears  with  an 
effect  of  so  much  strange  and  portentous  mystery  here  among  these 
regions  of  lonely  magnificence,  where  the  primitive  loyalty  of  the 
Scottish  mountaineer  is  still  as  pure  as  the  air  which  he  inhales. 
Throughout  by  far  the  greater  part  of  these  rich  and  mighty  realms 
we  nothing  question  the  loyal  affection  and  reverence  of  our  fellow- 
subjects  are  as  deep  and  as  secure — but  the  tidings  of  these  things 
cannot  fail  to  be  heard  with  emotions  of  new  wonder  and  new  disgust, 
amidst  scenes,  where  the  happiness  and  repose  of  a  virtuous,  high- 

•  In  1811,  when  insanity  had  disqualified  George  HI.  from  governing  Great  Britain,  his 
eldest  son,  the  Prince  of  Wales,  was  appointed  Regent,  in  which  capacity  he  continued  until 
January,  1820,  when  he  succeeded  to  the  throne,  as  George  IV. — M. 

t  Something  more  than  simple  "  rumor  of  disturbance"  existed  in  the  autumn  of  1819. 
Public  discontent  largely  existed,  in  consequence  of  the  popular  desire  of  Parliamentary 
Reform.  Public  meetings,  largely  attended,  took  place  in  various  parts  of  England  and  Scot- 
land. One,  held  at  St.  Peter's  Place,  Manchester,  on  the  16th  August,  1819,  had  a  tragical 
termination.  Henry  Hunt,  one  of  the -popular  leaders,  attended,  to  harangue  the  multitude, 
which  included  men,  women,  and  even  children.  The  magistrates  determined  to  arrest  Hunt 
and  his  fellow-leaders,  and  called  in  a  body  of  armed  Yeomanry  cavalry  to  aid  the  police.  An 
affray  took  place.  The  Yeomanry  attacked  the  unarmed  and  peaceable  multitude,  killing  and 
wounding  many  with  their  sabres.  Hunt  and  his  friends  were  made  prisoners,  on  a  charge  of 
high-treason,  which  was  abandoned  ;  but  they  were  tried  and  convicted  of  sedition.  Angry 
debates  on  what  has  since  been  called  The  Manchester  Massacre,  and  The  Peterloo  Butchery, 
took  place  in  Parliament,  in  which  ministers  (who  had  sent  a  formal  letter  of  thanks  to  the 
magistrates  and  Yeomanry  of  Manchester,  for  their  "prompt  and  spirited  conduct,")  defended 
what  was  done,  and  the  result  was  that  Parliament  finally  passed  an  Act  of  Indemnity,  to 
protect  the  doers  of  this  massacre,  and  also  placed  on  the  statute-book  six  restrictive  acts, — to 
prevent  seditious  meetings,  to  prohibit  training  and  arming,  to  check  blasphemous  and 
seditious  writings,  and  to  tax  cheap  periodical  publications.  Cobbett,  at  that  time,  was 
selling  his  celebrated  and  influential  Political  Register  at  two-pence, — the  new  act  imposed  a 
stamp-duty  of  four-pence  upon  each  number.  At  the  time  that  this  article  was  written,  not 
later  than  the  middle  of  August,  1819,  the  fatal  affray  at  Manchester  could  scarcely  have  been 
known  in  Edinburgh.  If  it  had,  no  doubt  Christopher  North  would  have  been  delighted  to 
praise  the  Manchester  Yeomanry. — M. 


118  THE  LAST  DAT   OF   THE  TENT.  [Sept. 

spirited,  and  noble  race,  have  never  yet  been  disturbed,  even  by  the 
thought  or  the  suspicion  of  any  of  those  wild  and  vicious  theories, 
which,  in  most  of  the  other  districts  of  the  empire,  have  now,  we  fear, 
some  profligate  advocates  and  some  miserable  dupes.  My  Lords 
and  Gentlemen, — It  is  indeed  high  time  that  these  things  should  cease 
to  be  spoken  of,  with  any  difference  of  language,  by  any  conscientious 
adherents  of  either  of  those  great  political  parties,  whose  existence  as 
such  is  perhaps  a  necessary  consequence  of  the  nature  of  our  constitu- 
tion, and  a  necessary  mean  of  its  preservation.  It  is  high  time  that 
they  whose  education  enables  them  to  look  at  the  troubles  of  the 
present,  through  the  clear,  steady,  and  impartial  medium  of  the  past, 
should  see  the  necessity  of  combining,  with  head,  heart,  and  hands, 
to  repress,  with  a  decision  in  which  there  must  be  at  least  as  much 
of  compassion  as  of  justice,  the  encroachments  of  this  frenzied  spirit, 
which  has  its  only  existence  and  support  in  the  desperate  depravity 
of  a  few  pestilent  demagogues — men  alike  bankrupts  in  fortune, 
principle,  and  character — and  in  the  rashness  with  which  the  ignorant 
and  the  weak  listen  to  the  audacious  brutality  of  their  treason  and 
their  blasphemy. 

"  Ours,  gentlemen,  is  not  the  only  country  wherein  ages  of  happi- 
ness and  loyalty  have  been  suddenly  disturbed  by  the  plebeian 
preachers  of  anarchy  and  confusion.  The  Woolers,  the  Watsons,  the 
Harrisons,  the  Wolseleys,  the  Burdetts,  the  Hobhouses* — all  have 
had  their  prototypes,  both  in  ancient  and  in  modern  times — and  the 
characters  of  all  of  them  have  been  described,  even  to  their  minutest 
shadings,  by  writers,  with  whom  some  of  themselves  must  be  not 
imperfectly  acquainted.  Of  all  these,  however,  the  importance  seems 
now  to  be  on  the  wane — and  the  shout  of  vulgar  acclamation  waits 
only,  in  its  utmost  violence,  upon  one,  whom,  but  a  few  short  months 
ago,  the  greater  part  even  of  these  would  have  regarded  with  any 
feelings  rather  than  those  of  serious  jealousy  and  anxious  emulation. 
Yet  it  is  well  that  the  choice  of  the  rabble  has  at  last  fallen  upon  one 
for  whom  even  the  rabble  cannot  long  remain  without  contempt. 
In  their  present  demi-god  these  misnamed  patriots  have  found  a 
leader,  who  answers,  in  all  things,  to  the  prophetic  minuteness  of  the 
Roman  historian's  description, — Summce  audacim — egens — -factiosus  : 

♦Radical  leaders  in  1819.  Wooler  was  editor  and  publisher  of  a  weekly  paper  called  the 
Yellow  Dwarf,  one  peculiarity  of  which  was,  that,  being  himself  a  compositor,  he  set  it  up 
without  "  copy,"  his  mind  and  his  composing-stick  being  at  work  together.  Watson  had  been 
tried  for  high-treason,  and  acquitted  ;  but,  on  a  subsequent  charge  being  made,  found  safety 
in  flight  to  the  United  States.  About  Harrison  I  know  nothing.  Sir  Charles  Wolseley  was 
a  baronet,  with  large  landed  estates  in  Staffordshire,  who  so  strongly  advocated  Parliamentary 
Reform,  that  he  allowed  himself  to  be  returned,  by  a  radical  meeting  at  Birmingham  (which 
was  not  directly  represented  until  1832),  as  Legislative  Attorney  for  that  town,  but  actually 
attempting  to  take  his  seat  in  Parliament  in  that  capacity,  was  arrested,  indicted,  tried,  con- 
victed, fined,  and  imprisoned — all  of  which  moderated  his  future  political  conduct.  Sir  Fran- 
cis Burdett  closed  his  liberal  career  by  joining  the  Tory  party.  Hobhouse,  who  came  into 
Parliament  from  Westminster  as  an  extreme  radical,  settled  down  into  a  placeman,  and  is  now 
a  peer. — M. 


1819.]  HENEY    HUNT.  119 

quern  ad  perturbandam  Rempuhlicam  Inopia  simul  atque  Mali  Mores 
stimulaverunt.  There  wants  not  one  iota  to  complete  the  resem- 
blance, except  only  some  tincture  of  that  noble  blood  which  was 
never  so  debased  and  degraded  as  in  the  person  of  the  Roman  Cata- 
line — the  total  absence  of  which,  however,  and  of  all  that  it  implies, 
lends  even  a  more  odious  air  of  abomination  to  the  rough  and  unvar- 
nished ferocity  of  his  English  rival. =^ 

"  When  the  poor  are  in  distress,  God  forbid  that  they  should  not 
share  the  pity,  and  feel  the  helping  hand  of  their  superiors.  When 
the  poor  and  ,the  ignorant  are  led  astray,  God  forbid  that  compas- 
sion should  not  be  the  first  and  last  feeling  on  the  minds  of  men  who 
have  enjoyed  opportunities  for  reflection  very  different  from  those 
which  can  be  afforded  to  their  weak  and  untrained  spirits,  amidst 
their  only  leisure,  the  idleness  of  calamity.  But  God  forbid,  also, 
and  the  prayer  we  would  fear  is  more  a  necessary  than  a  frequent 
one — that  we  should  suffer  ourselves,  from  any  mistaken  or  misdi- 
rected sympathies,  to  learn  the  lesson  of  regarding,  without  a  just  and 
unswerving  feeling  of  abhorrence,  the  characters  of  those  who  make 
their  sport  of  the  poverty,  and  their  prey  of  the  ignorance  of  the 
vulgar.  The  worst  of  all  the  bad  symptoms  which  meet  our  eyes, 
in  the  narratives  of  the  late  melancholy  transactions,  is  the  daily  in- 
creasing urbanity  of  the  terms  in  which  the  authors  of  all  this  evil 
are  spoken  of  by  the  compilers  of  these  narratives.  It  is  a  sad  thing 
indeed,  when  the  souls  of  those  that  are  or  ought  to  be  enlightened, 
betray,  on  such  momentous  crises  as  these,  any  stains  of  that  dark- 
ness which  it  is  of  right  their  vocation  to  dispel,  and  of  which,  above 
all  things,  it  behoved  them  to  have  rejected  and  scorned  the  contam- 
ination. Let  there  be  no  foolish  gentleness  toward  those  who  fight 
against  all  that  is  good — no  mad  courtesy  for  those  who  would  de- 
stroy all  that  is  noble.  Let  all  that  have  any  claim  to  the  name  of 
gentleman  be  anxious  to  keep  their  spirits  pure  from  the  very  vestige 
of  this  degradation.  In  this  hour  of  darkness  let  all  stand  together. 
In  this  hour  of  battle — for  the  word  is  not  too  strong  in  itself,  nor 
the  less  applicable,  because  the  contest  to  which  it  refers  is  more  one 

•Henry  Hunt,  the  person  here  alluded  to,  was  a  very  popular  demagogue  for  several  years  ; 
but  having  sat  in  parliament  in  1830-'31,  was  such  a  mere  nobody  in  that  assembly,  that  his 
constituents  did  not  re-elect  him.  It  is  recorded  that  he  made  one  hit  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons. He  was  a  man  of  considerable  landed  property,  inherited  from  his  ancestors,  when  he 
entered  public  life,  but  "the  broad  acres"  had  gradually  slipped  through  his  fingers,  and  he 
entered  into  business  for  a  livelihood,  first  as  a  brewer,  and  afterwards  as  a  vender  of  burnt 
corn  (or  an  untaxed  substitute  for  coff"ee,  and  called  "Hunt's  Breakfast  Powder,)  and  then  as 
a  manufacturer  of  Blacking.  William  Peel  brother-in-law  to  Sir  Robert,  was  in  Parliament 
when  Hunt  sat  there.  The  Peel  family,  although  possessing  immense  wealth,  made  as  man- 
ufacturers, had  sprung  from  nothing — as  far  as  "  birth"  was  concerned.  Peel  alluded,  some- 
what rudely,  to  Hunt's  blacking,  insinuating  that  Hunt  was  not  a  gentleman.  The  reply 
was  brief  and  sufficient.  Hunt  rose,  and  fixing  his  eyes  on  Peel,  said,  ••  The  honorable  mem- 
ber has  alluded  to  my  business,  and  spoke  of  the  difference  of  our  respective  stations.  Let  me 
tell  him  what  that  difference  is.  I  am  the  first  of  my  family  whoever  was  engaged  in  trade. 
He  is  one  of  the  first  of  his  .who  could  afford  to  lay  claim,  -from  wealth  only,  to  the  rank  of 
gentleman."  Hunt  sat  down,  applauded  on  all  sides,  and  William  Peel  did  not  again  provoke 
him.— M. 


120  THE  LAST  DAT  OF  THE  TENT.  [Sept. 

of  principles  than  of  men — in  this  hour  of  battle  let  us  all  rally- 
around  those  old  banners,  which  have  for  so  many  ages  been  our 
guides  to  victory,  and  our  ornaments  in  repose. 

The  Prince  Regent." 

We  ought  perhaps  to  beg  our  readers'  pardon  for  the  seeming 
vanity  of  recording  this  little  address ;  but  we  feel  assured  that  no 
such  apology  will  be  necessary  for  inserting  the  words  of  a  song, 
with  which  our  friend  Mr.  Wastle  was  good  enough  to  preface  the 
next  toast  on  our  list.  It  is  needless  to  add,  that  this  was  the  health 
and  prosperity  of  our  Royal  Guest. 

SONG,    BY    MR.    WASTLE, 

On  Proposing  the  Health  of  H.  R.  H.  Prince  Leopold. 

I 

Look,  oh !  look  from  the  Bower — 'tis  the  beautiful  hour 

When  the  sunbeams  are  broad  ere  they  sink  in  the  sea  ; 
Look,  oh  !  look  from  the  Bower — for  an  amethyst  shower 

Of  grandeur  and  glory  is  gemming  the  Dee  ; 
While  the  mountains  arise  more  sublime  in  the  skies, 

'Mid  that  lustre  of  mildness,  majestic  and  clear. 
And  the  face  of  the  land  seems  in  smiles  to  expand — 

Surely  Nature  proclaims  that  a  Festival's  here.. 

IL 

Let  your  goblets  be  crowned  like  the  sky  and  the  ground, 

With  a  light  that  is  bright  as  their  purple  may  be ; 
Let  your  goblets  be  crowned,  like  all  Nature  around, 

To  welcome  our  Prince  in  the  vale  of  the  Dee.    • 
Fill,  fill  ye  with  wine,  fill  your  goblets  like  mine, 

Till  the  rich  foam  be  ready  to  gush  o'er  the  brim. 
And  let  thoughts,  sad  and  high,  'mid  your  raptures  be  by, 

While  the  stream  of  devotion  flows  radiant  for  Him. 

Ill 
What  though  rarely  the  sod  of  Green  Albyn  be  trod 

By  the  feet  of  a  Prince — Nay,  though  ages  have  sped 
Since  the  eye  of  a  King  has  adventured  to  fling 

One  beam  on  these  hills  where  his  fathers  were  bred  ;* 
Like  the  flower  of  the  North,  which,  when  winter  comes  forth, 

Blooms  secure  and  unseen,  'neath  her  garment  of  snow — 
So  our  Faith,  undefiled,  is  still  fresh  in  the  wild. 

Amidst  chillness  to  bud,  and  in  darkness  to  blow. 

IV. 

Oh !  glad  was  the  day  when  her  snow  fell  away, 
And  the  softness  of  spring  again  mantled  her  sky  ; 

And  her  beauty  shone  out  with  the  old  Scottish  shout, 
That  proclaimed  to  our  mountains  the  Saxon  was  nigh. 

•In  August,  1822,  Scotland  -was  visited  by  George  IV.,  who  had  gone  to  Ireland  and  Hano- 
ver in  the  preceding  autumn. — M. 


1819.]  Hogg's  song.  121 

Not  the  less  we  adore  the  Red  Lion  of  yore, 

That  alone  on  the  Scutcheon  of  Albyn  was  seen, 
Because  England  and  Eiin  are  mixed  in  the  bearing, 

And  the  shield  where  the  dark  bend  is  wreathed  with  the  green. 

V. 

"With  our  loyalty's  gladness,  some  breathings  of  sadaess 

Have  been  heard — and  our  smiles  have  been  mixed  with  a  tear  ; 
But  perhaps  the  warm  heart  but  ennobles  its  part, 

When  in  Sympathy's  guise  it  bids  Homage  appear.. 
Take  our  hearts  as  they  are  'mid  the  heaths  of  Braemar, 

And  remember,  when  deep  flows  the  dark  purple  wine, 
That  the  Hill  and  the  Glen  would  be  proud  once  again, 

To  pour  for  their  Princes  the  blood  of  their  line. 

We  must  not  repeat  the  handsome  terms  in  which  thanks  were  re- 
turned for  our  own  speech  and  the  song  of  our  friend — suffice  it  to  say, 
that,  after  a  most  animated  conversation  of  a  political  cast  had  been 
sustained  for  some  time  by  several  ingenious  and  ardent  interlocu- 
tors, the  Thane  of  Fife  rose  (the  occasion  was  on  his  own  health 
being  proposed  from  the  chair),  and  hinted,  in  his  usual  elegance  of 
style  and  manner,  that  the  illustrious  Prince  who  had  condescended 
to  become  our  visitor,  would  be  fully  more  gratified  should  we 
thenceforth  dismiss  these  topics — which,  however  treated,  could  not 
fail  to  have  something  of  a  formal  air  and  effect — and  resume  in  full 
and  entire  freedom  our  own  usual  strain  of  amusement.  In  short, 
his  Lordship  as  well  as  the  Prince  wished  to  see  the  doings  of  the 
Tent  in  their  own  simple  and  unsophisticated  essence. 

We  lost  no  time  in  obeying  this  hint — and  by  way  of  breaking  the 
ice  for  a  descent  into  the  regions  of  perfect  mirth  and  jollity,  we 
called  on  the  Ettrick  Shepherd  to  sing,  with  the  accompaniment  of 
the  bag-pipe,  one  of  those  wild  and  pathetic  ballads  of  which  his 
genius  has  been  so  creative.  Those  who  have  had  the  pleasure  of 
being  in  company  with  the  Shepherd,  know  full  well  what  deep  and 
gentle  pathos,  and,  at  the  same  time,  what  light  and  playful  graceful- 
ness, are  to  be  found  in  the  notes  of  his  unrivalled  voice,  and  will  not 
need  to  be  told  what  effect  he  produced  upon  the  whole  company,  by 
the  following  exquisite  strain  ! 

I    PITY    YOU,    YE    STARS    SO    BRIGHT,    &C. 

I  PITY  you,  ye  stars  so  bright 
That  shine  so  sweetly  all  the  night, 
Beaming  ever  coldly  doAvn 
On  rock  and  river,  tower  and  town. 
Shining  so  lonely. 

I  pity  you,  ye  stars  so  bright. 
That  shine  so  sweetly  all  the  night, 
With  your  rays  of  endless  glee, 
On  the  wide  and  silent  sea, 

Shining  so  lonely. 
VOL.  I.  6  ' 


122  THE   LAST   DAY   OF  THE   TENT.  [Sept 

I  pity  you,  ye  stars  so  bright — 
"While  I'm  -with  Anna  all  the  night, 
Thro'  the  cold  blue  sky  ye  rove, 
Strangers  to  repose  and  love, 

Shining  so  lonely. 

I  pity  you,  ye  stars  so  bright, 
And  Anna  pities  you  to-night, 
What  a  weary  way  you've  been 
Since  yon  first  balmy  kiss  yestreen, 
Shining  so  lonely  1 

This  song  was  succeeded  by  a  round  of  toasts,  of  which  our  memory- 
has  preserved  only  the  following,  viz  : — 

1.  The  Author  of  Waverley — by  Prince  Leopold. 

2.  Mr.  Alison— by  Mr.  Wastle. 

3.  The  Bishop  of  St.  Davids,  the  unwearied  and  enlightened  friend  of  Wales — 
by  Dr.  Morris. 

4.  Professor  John  Young,  of  Glasgow,  the  great  Grecian  of  Scotland — by  Dr. 
Parr.  , 

5.  The  Right  Hon.  Robert  Peel,  the  Member  for  Oxford— by  Mr.  Seward. 

6.  Charley  Bushe,  the  most  admirable  Judge,  the  most  eloquent  speaker — and 
the  most  delightful  companion  in  Ireland — by  Mr.  Odoherty. 

7.  Mr.  Davison,  of  Oriel,  the  star  of  Isis — by  Mr.  Buller. 

8.  The  Rev.  Francis  Wrangham,  the  star  of  Cam. — by  the  Editor. 

9.  The  young  Duke  of  Buccleugh — and  may  he  live  to  be  as  great  a  blessing  to 
Ettrick  as  his  father — by  the  Shepherd. 

10.  Counsellor  Ellis — by  Mr.  Tickler. 

11.  Lord  Byron — by  Dr.  Scott. 

12.  Dr.  Chalmers — by  Baillie  Jarvie. 

13.  Mr.  John  Kemble — by  Mr.  John  Ballantyne. 

14.  The  Earl  of  Fife  (to  whose  turn  the  toast,  by  some  accident,  was  long  of 
coming  round)  paid  us  the  elegant  and  classical  compliment  of  proposing  the 
health  of  our  excellent  Publishers,  Messrs.  Blackwood,  Cadell,  and  Davies* — three 
times  three — to  which  (need  we  add  ?)  the  whole  of  the  company  gladly  assented. 

Dr.  Parr  was  the  first  to  hint  his  wish  for  another  song — and 
called  loudly  upon  Buller  of  Brazennose,  who,  after  a  little  hesita- 
tion, took  courage,  and  told  the  Doctor  if  he  had  no  objection  he 
would  give  him  an  old  Oxford  strain.  "  By  all  means,  you  dog," 
quoth  the  Bellendenian — "  I  remember  the  day  when  I  could  sing 
half  the  Sausagef  myself." 

THE    friar's    farewell    TO    OXFORD. 
To  the  Tune  of  Green  Sleevesr 
1. 
T'  OTHER  night,  as  I  passed  by  old  Anthony-wood, 
I  saw  Father  Green  in  a  sorrowful  mood — 
Astride  on  a  stone,  beside  Magdalene  gate, 
He  lamented  o'er  Oxford's  degenerate  state ; 

*  Cadell  and  Davies  -were  the  London  agents  for  the  sale  of  Blackrvood. — M. 
f  A  collection  of  songs,  chants,    and  other  college  versicles,  entitled   "The  Oxford  Sau- 
sage.    A  like  collection,  elsewhere,  is  "The  Gamhridge  Tart." — iM. 


1819.]  THE  feiae's  faeewell.  123 

The  beer  he  had  swallowed  had  opened  his  heart, 
And  'twas  thus  to  the  winds  he  his  woes  did  impart. 
With  a  heigh  ho  !  <fec. 

2. 
"  Oh,  Oxford !  I  leave  thee — and  can  it  be  true  ? 
I  accept  of  a  living  ?     I  bid  thee  adieu  ? 
Thou  scene  of  my  rapture,  in  life's  early  morn, 
Ere  one  pile  of  soft  lambskin  my  back  did  adorn — 
When  sorrows  came  rarely,  and  pleasures  came  thick, 
And  my  utmost  distress  was  a  long-standing  tick. 
With  a  heigh  ho !  &e. 

3. 

"  Oh  !  the  joys  of  the  moderns  are  empty  and  vain. 
When  compared  with  our  mornings  in  Logical-lane  ; 
There  seated  securely,  no  Dun  did  we  fear. 
Tommy  Horseman  hopped  round  with  his  flagons  of  beer : 
With  cow-heel  and  tripe  we  our  bellies  did  cram. 
And  for  Proctors  and  Beadles  we  cared  not  a  damn. 
With  a  heigh  ho !  &c. 

4. 
"  In  the  alehouse  at  evening  these  joys  we  renewed — 
When  our  pockets  were  empty  our  credit  was  good  ; 
Tho'  scrawlings  of  chalk  spread  each  smokified  wall, 
Not  a  fear  for  the  future  our  souls  could  appal. 
What  tho'  Sanctified  Hall  at  our  doctrines  may  scoff? 
Yet  enough  for  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof. 

With  a  heigh  ho  !  (fee. 

6. 
"All  encircled  with  fumes  of  the  mild  curling  shag, 
We  derided  the  toils  of  the  book-plodding  fag : 
For  careless  was  then  every  puff  we  did  suck  in. 
And  unknown  in  the  schools  were  the  terrors  of  plucking. 
No  Examiners,  then,  thought  of  working  us  harm, 
A  beef-steak  and  a  bottle  their  wrath  could  disarm. 
With  a  heigh  ho !  Ac. 

6. 
"  Good  beer  is  discarded  for  claret  and  port. 
Logic-lane  is  no  longer  the  Muse's  resort — 
The  cold  hand  of  Chronos  has  reft  Dinah's  bloom. 
And  tobacco  is  banished  from  each  common-room, 
And  the  days  I  have  seen  they  shall  ne'er  come  again — 
So  adieu  to  old  Oxford" — I  answered,  amen ! 
With  a  heigh  ho  !  (fee. 

The  pleasure  we  all  testified  on  hearing  this  genuine  academical 
strain,  which,  as  Dr.  Parr  observed,  was  "  enough  to  transport  one 
to  the  very  pinnacle  of  Maudlin"  (we  suppose  he  meant  one  of  the 
Oxford  Colleges  which  goes  by  the  name  of  Magdalen  College,  orally 
corrupted  as  above),  encouraged  Mr.  Seward  to  comply  with  Buller's 
request,  who  tossed  the  ball  to  his  friend  on  this  occasion  with  a 


124  THE  LAST   DAY   OF  THE  TENT.  [Sept. 

plain  insinuation,  that  the  former  story  of  his  not  being  able  to  sing 
was  all  mere  fudge.  The  Christ-Church  man,  whose  proper  designa- 
tion we  understand  (for  he  has  not  yet  taken  his  bachelor's  degree), 
is  that  of  a  sophista  generalise  said,  that  he  was  the  more  inclined  to 
sing  a  particular  set  of  verses,  because  the  present  company  would 
be  able  at  once  to  appreciate  their  merit,  they  being  a  parody  on  one 
of  the  songs  in  the  Lady  of  the  Lake,  composed  by  an  eminent  uni- 
versity wit,  in  honor  of  a  late  occurrence,  which  he  declined  ex- 
plaining at  greater  length. 

SONG — Sung  by  General  Sophist  Seward  of  Christ- Church. 
To  the  Tune  of  "  Rhoderick  Dhu!' 
Hail  to  the  maiden  that  graceful  advances  I 

'Tis  the  Helen  of  Isis  if  right  I  divine. 
Eros  !  thou  classical  god  of  soft  glances, 

Teach  me  to  ogle  and  make  the  nymph  mine. 
Look  on  a  tutor  true, 
Ellen  !  for  love  of  you 
Just  metamorphosed  from  blacksmith  to  beau. 
Hair  combed,  and  breeches  new, 
Grace  your  trim  Roderick  Dhu — 
While  every  gownsman  cries,  wondering,  "  Ho !  ho  !" 

In  Greek  I  believe  I  must  utter  my  passion. 

For  Greek's  more  familiar  than  English  to  me ; 
Besides,  Byron  of  late  has  brought  Greek  into  fashion —  ' 
There's  some  in  his  "  Fair  Maid  of  Athens" — Let's  see — 

Psha  !  this  vile  modern  Greek 

Won't  do  for  me  to  speak 

Let  me  try — Zw?7,  /usaag  aya-nso  ! 

Zooks  !  I  don't  like  its  tone  : 

Now  let  me  try  my  own — 
KATei  MET,  EAENH,  SOT  TAP  EPi2  ! 

But,  ha  !  there's  a  young  Christ-church  prig  .that  I  plucked  once  ! 

I  fear  he'll  make  love  to  her  out  of  mere  spite ; 
Ha  !  twirl  thy  cap,  and  look  proud  of  thy  luck,  dunce, 
But  Greek  will  prevail  over  grins,  if  I'm  right. 

By  Dis  !  the  infernal  God  ! 

See,  see  !  they  grin  !  they  nod ! 
£2  fioL  dvirvv^  !    i2  TaXa^  eyu  ! 

Zounds  !  should  my  faithless  flame 

Love  this  young  Malcom  Grseme, 
'Otutol  !    ToraToc !   (pev  !   uozjoc !    Q, ! 

But  come  !  there's  one  rival  I  don't  see  about  her, 

I  mean  the  spruce  tutor,  her  townsman  Fitzjames; 
For  though  of  the  two  I  believe  I'm  the  stouter, 
His  legs  are  inueh  neater,  much  older  his  claims. 

Yet  every  Christ-church  blade 

Swears  I  have  won  the  maid  ; 
Every  one,  Dean  and  Don,  swears  it  is  so. 

Honest  Lloyd  blunt  and  bluff, 

Levett,  and  Goodenough — 
All  clap  my  back  and  cry,  "  Rhoderick's  her  beau  !" 


1819.]  odoheett's  song.  125 

Come,  then,  your  influence  propitious  be  shedding, 

Gnomes  of  Greek  metre  I  since  crowned  are  my  hopes  ; 
"Waltz  in  Trochaic  time,  waltz  at  my  wedding, 
Nymphs  who  preside  over  accents  and  tropes  ! 
Scourge  of  false  quantities, 
Ghost  of  Hephsestiou  rise, 
Haply  to  thee  my  success  I  may  owe. 
Sound  then  the  Doric  string, 
All,  all  in  chorus  sing, 
Joy  to  Hephaestion,  black  Rhoderick  &  Co. 

By  this  time  the  Shepherd  began  to  get  very  weary  of  the  claret, 
and  insisted  upon  being  allowed  to  make  a  little  whisky  toddy  in  a 
noggin  for  himself.  We  always  humor,  as  far  as  prudence  will  per- 
mit, the  whims  of  our  Contributors,  however  they  may  be  at  variance 
with  our  own  private  taste  and  judgment,  so  we  at  once  granted  our 
permission  to  Mr.  Hogg,  and  a  proud  man  was  he,  when,  after  his 
toddy  was  fairly  made,  the  Prince  and  the  Thane  both  requested  a 
tasting  of  it.  "  Od,"  cried  he,  "  I  wad  gie  your  Royal  Highness 
and  Lordship  every  drap  o't,  an'  it  were  melted  diamonds — but  I'm 
sure  you'll  no  like  it — we  maun  hae  a  sang  frae  the  Captain,  and  that 
will  gar  ony  thing  gang  down."  Odoherty  could  not  withstand  this 
flattery,  and  at  once  favored  us  with  the  following,  of  which  both 
words  and  music  are  his  own. 

SONG — "  That  I  love  thee,  charming  Maid,''^  to  its  own  Tune. 
By  Morgan  Odoherty,  Esq. 

That  I  love  thee,  charming  maid,  I  a  thousand  times  have  said, 

And  a  thousand  times  more  I  have  sworn  it. 
But  'tis  easy  to  be  seen  in  the  coldness  of  your  mien 

That  you  doubt  my  affection — or  scorn  it. 

Ah  me! 

Not  a  single  pile  of  sense  is  in  the  whole  of  these  pretenses 

For  rejecting  your  lover's  petitions ; 
Had  I  windows  in  my  bosom.  Oh  !  how  gladly  I'd  expose  'em 

To  undo  your  phantastic  suspicions. 

Ah  me ! 

You  repeat  I've  known  you  long,  and  you  hint  I  do  you  wrong 

In  beginning  so  late  to  pursue  ye, 
But  'tis  folly  to  look  glum  because  people  did  not  come 

Up  the  stairs  of  your  nursery  to  woo  ye. 

Ah  me ! 

In  a  grapery  one  walks  without  looking  at  the  stalks, 

While  the  bunches  are  green  that  they're  bearing — 
All  the  pretty  little  leaves  that  are  dangling  at  the  eaves 

Scarce  attract  even  a  moment  of  staring. 

Ah  me ! 


126  THE  LAST   DAY  OF  THE  TENT.  [Sept. 

But  when  time  has  swell'd  the  grapes  to  a  richer  style  of  shapes, 

And  the  sun  has  lent  warmth  to  their  blushes, 
Then  to  cheer  us  and  to  gladden,  to  enchant  us  and  to  madden, 

Is  the  ripe  ruddy  glory  that  rushes. 

Ah  me  1 

Oh  'tis  then  that  mortals  pant,  while  they  gaze  on  Bacchus'  plant — 

Oh  !  'tis  then — will  my  simile  serve  ye  ? 
Should  a  damsel  fair  repine,  tho'  neglected  like  a  vine  ? 

Both  ere  long  shall  turn  heads  topsy-turvy. 

Ah  me ! 

We  had  scarcely  finished  the  speech,  in  which  we  proposed  the 
health  of  the  Standard-bearer,  when  our  eye  dropt  upon  the  phy- 
siognomy of  the  Bishop  of  Bristol,  evidently  in  a  fit  of  deep  abstrac- 
tion. His  broad  forehead  was  drawn  down  into  his  face  with  a  com- 
plexity of  deep  indented  furrows  ;  his  under  lip  was  lifted  close  to  his 
nostrils ;  and  his  eyes  were  dilated  like  those  of  Parasina  in  the 
Judgment  Hall,  resting  with  the  gaze  of  a  Newton  upon  some  invisi- 
ble point  in  the  vacant  air  around  him.  From  what  delightful  or 
dreadful  dream  our  laugh  (for  we  could  not  repress  it),  withdrew 
the  wondering  phantasy  of  the  illustrious  Bishop,  we  cannot  pretend 
to  offer  any  conjecture.  "  I'm  not  absent,  nae  mair  nor  yoursel,  Mr. 
Chairman,"  were  the  first  words  he  uttered.  "  I  was  only  just  casting 
about  for  a  verse  or  two  that  I  cannot  remember,  of  a  sang  that  I  was 
thinking  to  offer  you — I  canno  bring  them  up,  however — but  no 
matter,  there's  a  gay  twa-three  as  it  is."  The-  Bishop's  volunteer 
was  greeted  with  tremendous  acclamation  ;  and — having  hummed  the 
air  for  about  a  minute,  and  ordered  us  all  to  join  the  chorus — in  a 
low  plaintive  voice,  broken,  without  doubt,  by  the  intensity  of  many 
painful  recollections,  he  thus  began, 

CAPTAIN    PATOn's    LAMENT.* 
By  James  Scott,  Esq. 
1. 
Touch  once  more  a  sober  measure,  |  and  let  punch  and  tears  be  shed, 
For  a  pHnce  of  good  old  fellows,  |  that,  alack  a-day  !  is  dead ; 
For  a  prince  of  worthy  fellows,  |  and  a  pretty  man  also. 
That  has  left  the  Saltrnarket  |  in  sorrow,  grief,  and  woe. 

Oh  !  we  ne'er  shall  see  the  like  of  Captain  Paton  no  mo  ! 

2. 

His  waistcoat,  coat,  and  breeches,  |  were  all  cut  off  the  same  web, 
Of  a  beautiful  snuff-color,  ]  or  a  modest  genty  drab  ; 
The  blue  stripe  in  his  stocking  |  round  his  neat  slim  leg  did  go. 
And  his  ruffles  of  the  Cambric  fine  |  they  were  whiter  than  the  snow. 
Oh  !  we  ne'er  shall  see  the  like  of  Captain  Paton  no  mo  ! 

*  Captain  Paton's  Lament,  -which  has  been  a  popular  song  in  Scotland  since  It  first  was 
chanted  in  the  Tent,  was  -written  by  Mr.  Lockhart.— M. 


1819.]  THE  bishop's   CHA^T.  127 

3. 

His  hair  was  curled  in  order,  j  at  the  rising  of  the  sun, 
In  comely  rows  and  buckles  smart  |  that  about  his  ears  did  run ; 
And  before  there  was  a  toupee  |  that  some  inches  up  did  grow, 
And  behind  there  was  a  long  queue  |  that  did  o'er  his  shoulders  flow. 
Oh !  we  ne'er  shall  see  the  like  of  Captain  Paton  no  mo  1 
^  . 

4. 

And  whenever  we  foregathered,  he  took  oflf  his  wee  three-coekit, 
And  he  proffered  you  his  snuff-box,  which  he  drew  from  his  side  pocket, 
And  on  Burdett  or  Bonaparte,  he  would  make  a  remark  or  so, 
And  then  along  the  plains  tones  like  a  provost  he  would  go. 
Oh  !  we  ne'er  shall  see  the  like  of  Captain  Paton  no  mo ! 

5. 
In  dirty  days  he  picked  well  {  his  footsteps  with  his  rattan, 
Oh  !  you  ne'er  could  see  the  least  speck  j  on  the  shoes  of  Captain  Paton ; 
And  on  entering  the  Coffee-room  |  about  two,  all  men  did  know, 
They  would  see  him  with  his  Courier  (  in  the  middle  of  the  row. 
Oh  !  we  ne'er  shall  see  the  like  of  Captain  Paton  no  mo  ! 

6. 
Now  and  then  upon  a  Sunday  }  he  invited  me  to  dine, 
On  a  herring  and  a  mutton-chop  |  which  his  maid  dressed  very  fine : 
There  was  also  a  little  Malmsey,  and  a  bottle  of  Bourdeaux, 
Which  between  me  and  the  Captain  passed  nimbly  to  and  fro. 
Oh !  I  ne'er  shall  take  pot-luck  with  Captain  Paton  no  mo  1 

1. 
Or  if  a  bowl  was  mentioned,  the  Captain  he  would  ring, 
And  bid  Nelly  run  to  the  West-port,  and  a  stoup  of  water  bi'ing ; 
Then  would  he  mix  the  genuine  stuff,  as  they  made  it  long  ago, 
With  limes  that  on  his  property  in  Trinidad  did  grow. 

Oh !  we  ne'er  shall  taste  the  like  of  Captain  Paton's  punch  no  mo  1 

8. 
And  then  all  the  time  he  would  discourse  }  so  sensible  and  courteous, 
Perhaps  talking  of  the  last  sermon  |  he  had  heard  from  Dr.  Porteous, 
Or  some  little  bit  of  scandal  |  about  Mrs  so  and  so. 
Which  he  scarce  could  credit,  having  heard  }  the  con  but  not  the  pro. 
Oh  !  we  ne'er  shall  hear  the  like  of  Captain  Paton  no  mo  ! 

9. 
Or  when  the  candles  were  brought  forth,  and  the  night  was  fairly  setting  in, 
He  would  tell  some  fine  old  stories  about  Minden-field  or  Dettingen — 
How  he  fought  with  a  French  major,  and  despatched  him  at  a  blow, 
While  his  blood  ran  out  fike  water  on  the  soft  grass  below. 
Oh !  we  ne'er  shall  hear  the  like  of  Captain  Paton  no  mo ! 

10. 
But  at  last  the  Captain  sickened  |  and  grew  worse  from  day  to  day, 
And  all  missed  him  in  the  Coffee-room  |  from  which  now  he  stayed  away ; 
On  Sabbaths,  too,  the  Wee  Kirk  |  made  a  melancholy  show. 
All  for  wanting  of  the  presence  ]  of  our  venerable  beau. 

Oh !  we  ne'er  shall  see  the  like  of  Captain  Paton  no  mo  ! 


128  THE   LAST  DAY   OF  THE  TENT.  [Sept 

11. 

And  in  spite  of  all  that  Cleghorn  |  and  Corkindale  could  do, 
It  was  plain,  from  twenty  symptoms  j  that  death  was  in  his  view ; 
So  the  Captain  made  his  test'ment,  and  submitted  to  his  foe, 
And  we  layed  him  by  the  Rams-horu-kirk — 'tis  the  way  we  all  must  go. 
Oh !  we  ne'er  shall  see  the  like  of  Captain  Paton  no  mo  ! 

12. 
Join  all  in  chorus,  jolly  boys,  and  let  punch  and  tears  be  shed, 
For  this  prince  of  good  old  fe'lows,  that  alack  a-day !  is  dead; 
For  this  prince  of  worthy  fellows,  and  a  pretty  man  also. 
That  has  left  the  Saltmarket  in  sorrow,  grief,  and  woe  1 
For  it  ne'er  shall  see  the  like  of  Captain  Paton  no  mo ! 

At  the  conclusion  of  this  song,  which,  to  those  who  know  the 
voice,  taste,  and  execution  of  the  gentleman  who  sung  it,  we  need  not 
say  gave  general  delight,  Prince  Leopold,  who  had  attentively 
listened  to  it  with  the  most  gracious  smile,  arose,  and  saying,  "  that 
it  was  wise  for  friends  to  part  in  a  mirthful  moment,"  with  the 
utmost  benignity  bade  us  all  farewell.  At  this  very  moment,  Mr. 
Tims  (who  was  long  ere  now  as  bowsy  as  a  fly  in  a  plate  of 
"  quassia,")  jumped  upon  his  chair  in  order  to  attract  our  notice,  and 
insisted  upon  singing  '"  Scots  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled  ;"  but  the 
Shepherd  frowned  with  such  a  deadly  darkness  at  the  suggestion,  that 
the  Cockney  lost  not  a  moment  in  resuming  his  former  posture. 
"  Aye,  aye,  that's  richt,"  said  the  Shepherd,  "  saufus  only  to  think  o' 
Robert  the  Bruce  acted  by Tims  !" 

As  our  Illustrious  Visitor  and  his  Noble  Friends  withdrew,  the 
pipes  slowly  and  solemnly  played  "  Farewell  to  Lochaber ;"  and  our 
Tent  seemed,  at  their  departure,  quite  melancholy  and  forlorn.  We 
soon  retired  to  repose,  but  not  to  sleep ;  for  all  night  long  the  High- 
land host  kept  playing  their  martial  or  mournful  tunes,  and  the  voices 
of  distant  ages  seemed,  in  the  solitary  silence  of  the  midnight  desert, 
restored  to  the  world  of  life.  We  felt,  that  with  such  a  glorious  day 
our  reign  in  the  Highlands  nobly  terminated,  and  we  gave  orders  by 
sunrise  to  strike  the  Tent,  exclaiming,  in  the  words  of  Milton,-^ 

"  To-MORROW  FOR  FRESH  FIELDS  AND  PASTURES  NEW." 


jLottrs^  ^ml)vo^iunut. 


NO.  L— MARCH,  1822. 

Christopher  North,  Esquire,  solus, 
filter  Ensign  Morgan  Odoherty. 

Editor.  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Odoherty.  I  am  heartily  glad  of 
the  interruption.  I  won't  write  any  more  to-night. — I'll  be  shot  if  I 
write  a  word  more.  Ebony  may  jaw  as  he  pleases.  The  Number 
will  do  well  enough  as  it  is.  If  there  is  not  enough,  let  him  send  his 
devil  into  the  Balaam-box.'^ 

Odoherty.  I  have  just  arrived  from  London. 

Editor.  Yvom.  London  ? — The  Fleet,  I  suppose.  How  long  have 
you  lain  there  ? 

Odoherty.  I  have  been  out  these  three  weeks.  I  suppose,  for  any 
thing  you  would  have  advanced,  I  might  have  lain  there  till  Kingdom- 
come. 

Editor.  I  can't  advance  money  for  ever.  Adjutant.  You  have  not 
sent  me  one  article  these  four  months. 

Odoherty.  What  sort  of  an  article  do  you  want  % — A  poem  ? 

Editor.  Poems  !  There's  poetry  enough  without  paying  you  for 
it.     Have  you  seen  Milman's  new  tragedy  ?f 

Odoherty.  No ;  but  I  saw  the  proofs  of  a  puff  upon  it  for  the  next 

*  The  Balaam-box,  which  is  repeatedly  referred  to  in  The  Noctes,  was  supposed  to  contain  a 
variety  of  articles,  from  voluntary  contributors,  as  well  as  from  the  usual  writers  in  the  Maga- 
zine. Mr.  Blackwood  received  the  sobriquet  of  Ebony  from  a  pun  upon  his  name,  which  ori- 
ginated in  the  "  Chaldee  Manuscript,"  where  he  was  spoken  of  a  man  whose  "  name  was  as 
it  had  been  the  color  of  ebony." — M. 

t  "The  Martyr  of  Antioch,  a  dramatic  poem,  by  the  Rev.  H.  H.  Milman,"  was  published  by 
John  Murray,  of  London,  in  March,  1822.  At  that  time  Milman  was  Professor  of  Poetry  in  the 
University  of  Oxford.  He  had  written  a  prize  poem  when  he  was  an  under-graduate.  In  1817 
he  produced  the  tragedy  of  -'Fazio,"  in  M'hich  Miss  O'Neill  sustained  the  part  of  the  heroine. 
This  play  retains  its  place  in  the  Acted  Drama.  "  Samor,  Lord  of  the  Bright  City,"  a  heroic 
poem  in  twelve  books,  appeared  in  1818.  "The  Fall  of  Jerusalem,"  and  •' Anna  Boleyne." 
were  followed  by  "The  Martyr  of  Antioch"  and  "Belshazzar."  Milman  has  contributed 
largely  to  the  Quarterly  Review,  edited  Gibbon's  Decline  and  Fall,  and  written  a  History  of 
the  Jews,  and  other  serious  works.  He  entered  the  Church  in  1817,  had  a  good  vicarage  at 
Reading,  whence  he  removed  to  the  rectory  at  St,  Margaret's  (the  church  which  adjoins  West- 
minster Abbey,  partly  concealing,  that  stately  structure  from  view),  and  was  appointed  Dean 
of  St.  Paul's  in  1849.  As  a  poet,  Dr.  Milman's  reputation  is  even  now  almost  traditionary. 
Of  his  dramatic  works,  '  Fazio"  alone  is  known  to  the  bulk  of  the  present  generation,  and 
that  from  its  frec[uent  representation  on  the  stage.  Dr.  Milman  is  now  [1854]  aged  sixty- 
three. — M. 

6* 


130  NOCTES    ATVrRBOSIAJ^^.  [March, 

Quarterly.     He's  a  clever  fellow,  but  they  cry  him  too  high.     The 
report  goes,  that  he  is  to  step  into  Gifford's  shoes  one  of  these  days.* 

Editor.  That  accounts  for  the  puffing ;  but  it  will  do  a  really  clever 
fellow,  like  Milman,  no  good. 

Odoherty.  It  will,  Mr.  North.  I  know  nobody  that  puffs  more 
lustily  than  yourself  now  and  then.  What  made  you  puff  Procterf 
so  much  at  first  1 

Editor.  It  was  you  that  puffed  him.  It  was  an  article  of  your 
own.  Ensign. 

Odoherty.  By  Mahomet's  mustard-pot,  I've  written  so  much,  I 
don't  remember  half  the  things  I've  done  in  your  own  lubberly  Mag- 
azine, and  elsewhere.  At  one  time  I  wrote  all  Day  and  Martin's 
poetry.  They  were  grateful.  They  kept  the  whole  mess  of  the  44th 
in  blacking. 

Editor.  Then  you  wrote  the  World,  did  not  you  1 

Odoherty.  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing.  They've  been  quizzing 
you,  old  boy.     Impostors  are  abroad. 

Editor.  Then  somebody  has  been  sporting  false  colors  about  town. 

Odoherty.  Like  enough.     Set  a  thief  to  catch  a  thief. 

Editor.  You've  been  writing  in  Colburn,  they  say.  Master  Mor- 
gan ? 

Odoherty.  Not  one  line.  The  pretty  boys  have  applied  to  me  a 
dozen  times,  but  I  never  sent  them  any  answer  except  once,  and  then 
it  was  an  epigram  on  themselves. 

Editor.  Let's  hear  it. 

Odoherty.  Now,  by  Jupiter !  I  have  forgotten  the  beginning  of  it. 
I  think  it  was  something  like  this : — 

Colburn,  Campbell,  and  Co.  write  rather  so  so, 

But  atone  for 't  by  puff  and  profession — 
Every  month  gives  us  scope  for  the  Pleasures  of  Hope^ 

But  all  ends  in  the  Pains  of  Possession. 

Editor.  How  do  they  get  on  1     Heavily,  Ensign  ? 

Odoherty.  D —  heavily  !  They  lay  out  a  cool  hundred  on  adver- 
tisements every  month  ;  but  Campbell  does  very  little — at  least  so 
it  is  to  be  hoped — and  the  Subs  are  no  great  shakes.  J     They  have  a 

*  Milman  would  never  have  done  justice  to  the  Quarterly  Review;— his  prose  is  deficient  in 
force  and  terseness.  The  present  Sir  John  T.  Coleridge,  now  one  of  the  Judges  of  the  Queen's 
Bench  m  England,  edited  the  Quarterly  in  the  brief  interval  between  Gifford's  retirement  and 
Lockhart's  accession. — M. 

t  Procter,  who  was  Byron's  schoolfellow  at  Harrow,  assumed  the  nom  de  plume  of  Barry 
Cornwall,  when  he  published  his  first  volume  of  Dramatic  Sketches,  in  1815.  He  wrote  a 
tragedy  called  Mirandola,  played  in  1821,  at  Covent  Garden  Theatre.  Marcian  Colonna,  The 
Flood  of  Thessaly,  a  Life  of  Edmund  Kean  (which  was  severely  criticised  in  Blackwood),  and 
a  variety  of  songs,  many  of  which  are  admirable,  complete  the  list  of  his  writings— except  his 
magazine  articles,  which  have  been  collected  in  this  country  (but  not  yet  in  England),  and 
published  as  his  "Essays  and  Tales  in  Prose."  As  a  song-writer,  vigorous,  yet  delicate,  in 
thought  and  expression,  Procter  has  won  a  name  "  the  world  will  not  willingly  let  die."— M. 

t  Campbell,  the  poet,  edited  Colburn's  JVeiw  Monthly  Magazine,  from  1821  to  1831,  at  £500 
per  annum,  with  separate  payment,  as  a  contributor,  for  all  articles  by  himself.     This  im- 


1822.]  LITEEAEY   GOSSIP.    -  131 

miserable  set  of  bullaboos  about  them — broken- winded  dominies, 
from  the  manufacturing  districts,  and  so  forth.  Even  Hazlitt  does 
the  drama  better. 

Editor.  O,  Hazlitt's  a  real  fellow  in  his  small  way.  He  has  more 
sense  in  his  little  finger,  than  many  who  laugh  at  him  have  in  their 
heads,  but  he  is  bothering  too  long  at  that  table-talk. 

Odoherty.  Proper  humbug ! 

Editor.  Did  you  see  any  of  the  Cockneys  1  What's  the  gossip 
about  Murray's,  Ridgeway's,*  and  so  forth  %  Did  you  make  a  tour 
of  the  shops  ? 

Odoherty.  Of  course — I  went  round  them  all  with  a  bundle  of 
discarded  articles  you  gave  me  to  line  my  trunk  with,  when  I  went 
to  the  moors  last  year.  I  passed  myself  off  for  a  country  clergyman, 
wanting  to  publish  a  series  of  essays.  I  said  I  had  a  wife  and  seven 
small  children. 

Editor.  Yotf  have  some  tolerably  big  ones,  I  believe. 

Odoherty.  Which  you  never  will  have,  old  boy.  The  booksellers 
are  a  very  civil  set  of  fellows  :  Murray  took  me  into  a  room  by  my- 
self, and  told  me  of  the  row  between  him  and  the  Divan. 

Editor.  What  row '?  and  with  whom  "? 

Odoherty.  Why,  they  call  Murray  Emperor  of  the  West,  and 
Longman  and  Company  the  Divan.  They've  fallen  out  about 
Mother  Rundell's  book  upon  cookery.  I  told  Kitchener  the  next 
day,  that  I  thought  his  own  book  as  good  a  one.f 

Editor.  Shameless  fellow !  Don't  you  remember  how  you  cut  it 
up  ■?     I  wonder  you  could  look  the  doctor  in  the  face. 

Odoherty.  By  jing !  he  thought  I  was  a  doctor  myself.  I  had  a 
black  rose  in  my  hat,  and  talked  very  wisely  about  the  famous  mis- 
take touching  a. Mr.  Winton  of  Chelsea.  I'll  tell  you  about  that,  too, 
some  other  time.  J; 

mense  payment,  in  fact,  -was  for  his  natrie.  The  Magazine  was  actually  edited  by  Cyrus  Red- 
ding (whose  later  Recollections  of  Campbell  and  Beckford  are  full  of  interest  and  truth),  and 
the  dramatic  criticism  was  supplied,  for  many  years,  by  T.  N.  Talfourd  (afterwards  one  of  the 
Judges  of  the  Court  of  Common  Pleas  in  England),  so  well  known,  subsequently,  as  the  author 
of  "  Ion."— M. 

*  What  Murray's,  in  Albemarle-street,  was  for  Tory  literati  and  politicians  in  London — a 
pleasant  lounging  place,  where  public  affairs,  books,  and  personal  gossip,  supplied  the  conver- 
sation— Ridgeway's,  in  Piccadilly,  was  for  the  Whigs.  To  this  hour,  both  places  retain  this 
distinctive  character. — M. 

t  In  Dr.  Kitchener's  "  Cook's  Oracle''  there  was  a  boast,  that  every  receipt  in  it  had  been 
tried  by  the  author — and  his  friends,  might  have  been  added,  for  he  was  right  hospitable,  in 
his  snug  house  close  toFitzroy-Square,  and  was  pleasantly  addicted  to  giving  charming  dinner- 
parties at  which  the  number  of  the  guests  was  regulated  on  the  classic  rule,  "  Not  less  than  the 
Graces,  nor  more  than  the  Muses."  At  these  entertainments,  which  Theodore  Hook  frequently 
attended,  judgment  was  solemnly  passed  upon  the  Doctor's  gastronomic  inventions  or  im- 
provements since  the  last  repast.  Sometimes,  it  is  true,  opinions  would  be  balanced  (particu- 
larly if  the  dinner  was  very  good,  and  the  party  very  agreeable),  and  the  Doctor  would  then 
invite  the  same  party  for  that  day  week,  in  order  to  give  the  culinary  treasure  another  trial, 
All  his  receipts  were  treasures— if  his  own  report  were  to  be  credited.  He  was  a  clever,  well- 
informed  man,  who  gracefully  rode  his  hobbies — all  but  one.  He  had  invented  a  digestive 
pill,  'yclept  the  Perisaltic  Persuader,  and  sometimes  would  insist  on  coaxing  his  guests  into 
swallowing  one  or  two  before  dinner  ! — M. 

I  The  story  never  was  told  in  Blackwood,  and  is  too  good  to  be  lost : — ^Dr.  Tomline  had 


132  NOCTES  AMBROSIAN^.  [March, 

Editor.  The  Bishop's  first  two  volumes  are  not  quite  the  potato. 
I  hope  the  others  are  better. 

Odoherty.  Who  cares  %  I  shall  never  read  them.  Have  you  seen 
Horace  Walpole's  Memoirs  ? 

Editor.  I  have.  A  most  charming  book.  A  most  malicious, 
prying,  lying  old  fox.*  What  a  prime  contributor  he  would  have 
made ! — but,  to  be  sure,  he  was  a  Whig. 

Odoherty.  So  am  I.  For  that  matter,  half  your  best  contributors 
are  Whigs,  I  take  it. 

Editor.  Mum,  for  that,  Ensign.  But,  at  least,  I  have  nothing  to 
do  with  the  Scotch  Kangaroo  Canaille. 

Odoherty.  They  have  nothing  to  do  with  you,  you  mean  to  say. 

Editor.  They're  a  dirty,  dull,  detestable  set.  I  hate  them  all — I 
despise  them  all — except  little  Jeffrey. 

Odoherty.  He's  a  clever  chap,  certainly, — I  have  not  given  him  a 
dressing  these  two  years ;  I  shall  give  you  a  song  upon  him  one  of 
these  days. 

Editor.  Do.     What's  afoot  among  the  Tumbledowns  1 

Odoherty.  The  Holland  House  gentry  are  chuckling  very  much 
over  a  little  tit-bit  of  blasphemy,  sent  over  by  a  certain  learned  Lord 
from  Italy, — 'tis  call'd  the  "  Irish  Advent," — 'tis  a  base  parody  on 
the  Advent  of  our  Saviour, — 'tis  circulated  widely  among  the  same 
Thebans  who  blarneyed  about  Hogg's  Chaldee.f 

been  College  tutor,  at  Cambridge,  to  William  Pitt,  was  made  Bishop  of  Lincoln  by  him,  and 
in  1820,  was  translated  to  the  wealthy  See  of  Winchester.  He  had  long  been  preparing  a  Life 
of  Pitt,  and  in  1821,  wrote  briefly  to  Murray,  to  ask  whether  he  would  publish  it,  and  on  what 
terms.  English  Bishops  sign  with  the  Latin  names  of  their  respective  sees  instead  of 
their  own  surnames.  The  letter  to  Murray  was  dated  "  Chelsea,"  where  the  Bishop  had  a 
suburban  dwelling,  and  was  signed  Geo.  Winton — in  contraction  of  Georgius  Wintonensis, 
which  would  have  iDeen  his  full  Latinized  signature,  as  Bishop  of  Winchester.  It  happened 
that  Murray  was  ignorant  of  this,  and  considering  it  a  great  liberty  for  an  utter  stranger  to 
write  a  three-line  letter  to  him.  sent  a  sharp  reply  to  the  effect,  that  "  Mr.  Murray  had  received 
Mr.  George  Winton's  note,  and  declined  the  proposed  publication."  Presently,  Mr.  Croker.  (of 
the  Admiralty),  came  in,  and  Murray,  whose  dignity  continued  to  be  slightly  ruffled,  threw  the 
unfortunate  "  Winton,"  epistle  across  the  table  to  him.  "  The  very  book,"  said  Croker,  "  and 
the  very  man  to  write  it."  Murray,  in  amaze,  demanded  an  explanation,  and  Croker  answered, 
"  The  Bishop  of  Winchester  was  Pitt's  tutor,  private  secretary,  correspondent,  friend,  and 
literary  executor."  '•  My  dear  fellow,"  said  Murray,  "  what  has  the  Bishop  of  Winchester  to 
do  with  that  letter?"  Croker  explained  the  matter  of  the  Episcopal  signature.  "  Bless  me," 
said  Murray,  ''I  thought  it  was  some  Grub-street  compiler,  and  wrote  him  a  stiff  and  saucy 
answer.  I  hope  it  has  not  been  posted."  On  inquiry,  it  was  found  that  the  letter  had  already 
been  taken,  with  others,  to  the  Two-penny  Post-office.  With  some  difficulty,  Freeling,  the 
Secretary  of  the  General  Post-office,  allowed  Murray  to  get  back  the  letter,  in  place  of  which 
he  sent  a  very  courtly  epistle,  offering  to  wait  on  the  Bishop,  and  so  on.  The  result  was 
the  publication  of  the  first  part,  in  two  volumes,  of  Tomline's  Life  of  William  Pitt.  A  third 
volume  did  not  complete  the  work,  which  it  was  understood  that  the  Bishop  was  busy  on  up  to 
his  death,  in  1827.  The  biography  was  large  and  dull.  The  best  of  the  "Winton"  joke  was 
that  Croker,  who  knew  the  Bishop,  and  spared  no  one,  told  it  to  his  Lordship,  who  let  Murray 
know,  once  or  twice,  that  he  was  in  the  secret. — M. 

*  Horace  Walpole's  Memoirs  and  Correspondence,  to  say  nothing  of  his  other  writings,  show 
extraordinary  industry,  lively  wit,  close  observation,  and  sly  satire.  They  give  on  the  whole, 
more  of  political,  literary,  fashionable,  artistical,  and  scandalous  gossip  during  the  last  sixty 
years  of  the  Eighteenth  Century,  than  we  have  yet  received.  Walpole  became  Earl  of  Orford, 
by  succession,  in  1791,  but  never  took  his  seat  in  the  House  of  Lords.  He  died  in  1797,  in  his 
eightieth  year. — M. 

t  The  poem  alluded  to,  was  "The  Irish  Avater,"  written  in  September,  1821,  on  the  visit 
which  George  IV.  had  paid  to  Ireland,  in  the  preceding  August.    Byron,  who  was  shocked  at 


1822.]  THE   MAGAZINES.  133 

Editor.  Hogg's  Chaldee  ! — good. 

Odoherty.  You  would  notice  the  puffs  about  another  thing,  called 
"  the  Royal  Progress ;" — they  say  'tis  writ  by  Mrs.  Morgan's  ex- 
chevalier  ;  and  I  can  believe  it,  for  it  is  equally  dull  and  disloyal. 

Editor.  Are  these  all  the  news  you  have  picked  up?  How  do  the 
minor  periodicals  sell  % 

Odoherty.  Worse  and  worse.  Taylor  and  Hessey  are  going  down 
like  the  devil.*  Colburn  pays  like  a  hero,  for  what  you  would  fling 
into  the  fire.  The  copyright  of  the  European  was  disposed  of  t'other 
day  for  about  1600/.,  back  numbers,  plates,  and  all  included.  'Twas 
about  the  best  of  them. 

Editor.  I  hope  old  Sir  Richard  is  thriving. 

Odoherty.  Capitally.  He  circulates  between  three  and  four  thou- 
sand; and  his  advertisements  are  very  profitable.!  Why  don't  you 
sport  a  little  extra  matter  of  cover  % 

Editor.  At  present  mine  are  mostly  preserves.  I'll  enlarge  them, 
if  you  won't  poach. 

Odoherty.  Depend  on't,  'twill  pay. 

Editor.  I  hope  Nicholas  gets  on. 

Odoherty.  Very  fair.  'Tis  the  only  Gentleman's  Magazine  besides 
your  own. J; 

Editor.  What  is  that  thing  called  the  Gazette  of  Fashion  ? 

Odoherty.  'Tis   a   poor   imitation  of  the   Literary  Gazette.     Mr. 

,11  they  say,  patronizes  it;  but  this  can't  be  true,  for  it 

attacks,  very  shamefully,  the  man  who  did  him  more  good  than  any 
body  else  ever  will  be  able  to  do  him,  here  or  hereafter. 

Editor.  Hercles'  vein  with  a  vengeance !  You've  been  studying 
the  Eclectic,  one  would  think. 

the  enthusiasm  with  which  the  Irish  Catholics  received  a  monarch  who  had  the  power,  but 
lacked  the  will,  to  give  them  Emancipation,  headed  his  stanzas,  which  are  strong  and  stinging, 
with  this  motto,  from  Curran,  "  And  Ireland,  like  a  bastinadoed  elephant,  kneeling  to  receive 
the  paltry  rider."  The  poem,  which  gracefully  closes  with  complimentary  notices  of  Grattan, 
Curran,  and  Moore,  was  so  personal  on  George  IV.,  that  it  was  not  published  in  his  life-time. 
But  Byron  sent  it  to  Moore,  at  Paris,  and  allowed  him  to  have  a  dozen  copies  printed,  for 
private  circulation.  Some  of  these  found  their  way  to  London,  and  were  handed  about,  in 
literary  society,  until  the  poem  became  pretty  generally  known.  It  was  first  published,  in 
England,  in  1831.— M. 

*  After  John  Scott,  the  original  editor  of  the  London  Magazine,  was  shot  in  a  duel  by  Mr. 
Christie,  the  periodical  fell  into  the  hands  of  Taylor  and  Hessey,  of  Fleet-street,  very  intelli- 
gent publishers.  The  duel  (as  will  be  more  particularly  stated  in  the  Memoirs  of  Lockhart,  in 
the  piesent  edition  of  The  Noctes),  arose  from  a  quarrel  which  sprung  out  of  some  articles  in 
Blackwood.— M. 

t  Phillips  was  a  bookseller,  who  had  been  one  of  the  sheriffs  of  London,  and  was  knighted, 
on  presenting  some  city  address  to  George  III.  He  was  proprietor,  publisher,  and  editor  of 
the  Mo?i«/i^y  Mag-azine.  at  one  time  a  thriving  periodical.  The  European  Magazine  gave  a 
variety  of  good  engravings,  (landscapes  and  public  buildings,  with  very  good  portraits  of 
living  characters),  and  was  long  the  property  of  Mr.  Aspern,  who  published  the  letters  of  the 
famous  John  Wilkes. — M. 

jThe  Gentleman's  Magazine,  commenced  by  Edmund  Cave,  early  in  the  reign  of  George 
II.,  flourishes  in  that  of  Victoria,  under  the  editorship  of  the  Rev.  John  Mitford.  For  nearly 
half  a  century,  it  was  conducted  by  John  Nichols,  an  able  writer  on  literary  and  antiquarian 
subjects.     He  died  in  1828.— M. 

II  I  am  unable  to  say  what  person  is  here  alluded  to. — M. 


134  NOCTES   AMBKOSIAN^.  [March, 

Odohertij.  The  Eclectic  is  not  so  poor  an  affair  as  you  insinuate, 
Mr.  Christopher.  The  principal  writers  tip  us  a  little  of  the  Snuffie 
and  Whine., — but  you  are  up  to  that  yourself,  when  it  serves  your 
turn.  Montgomery's  articles  are  such  as  you  would  like  very  well 
to  lay  your  own  fist  upon,  I  fancy. 

Editor.  If  Foster  still  writes  in  it,  they  have  one  of  the  first 
thinkers  in  England  beneath  their  banner.*  I  wish  you  would  read 
him,  before  you  begin  to  write  the  auto-biography  you've  been  talking 
about  these  three  years. 

Odoherty.  Coleridge's  did  not  pay.f 

Editor.  But  yours  may, — nay,  will, — must  pay.  I'll  insure  you 
of  3000/.  if  you  go  to  "  the  proper  man."  I  intend  to  give  him  the 
first  offer  of  my  own  great  work, — my  Armenian  Grammar,  which 
is  now  nearly  ready  for  press. 

Odoherty.  Your  name  will  sell  anything.  Is  there  much  personal- 
ity in  the  notes  1 

Editor.  I  have  cut  up  the  commentators  here  and  there.  I  have 
fixed  an  indelible  stigma  on  old  Scioppius.J 

Odoherty.  I'll  defy  you  to  write  a  sermon  without  being  personal. 

Editor.  I'll  defy  Dr.  Chalmers  to  do  that.  He  is  deuced  severe 
on  the  Glasgow  Baillies  and  Professors  !  I  am  told. 

Odoherty.  Do  many  clergymen  contribute  1 

Editor.  Droves. 

Odoherty.  What  do  the  lads  chiefly  affect  ? 

Editor.  Jocular  topics.  'Twas  an  arch-deacon  sent  me  the  Irish 
Melodies,  which  I  know  you  have  been  owning  everywhere  for  your 
own.  II 

Odoherty.  I  follow  one  great  rule, — never  to  own  anything  that 
is  my  own,  nor  deny  anything  that  is  not  my  own. 

Editor.  'Tis  the  age  of  owning  and  disowning.  It  was  a  long  while 
ere  I  believed  Hope  to  be  Anastasius.§ 

*  John  Foster,  author  of  the  "  Essays"  which  have  procured  for  him  the  reputation  of  being 
one  of  the  most  original  thinkers  of  his  age,  was  a  frequent  contributor  to  the  Eclectic 
Revieiv,  then  more  decidedly  religious  in  its  tone  than  at  present.  He  died  in  1843.  James 
Montgomery,  the  poet,  was  a  casual  contributor  to  the  same  periodical,  and  died  in  1854.  The 
Eclectic,  which  occasionally  contains  very  able  articles,  is  now  edited  by  Dr.  Thomas  Pryse, 
of  London,  who  is  its  proprietor. — M. 

t  Coleridge's  "  Biographia  Literaria,"  was  only  a  fragment,  and  not  a  very  satisfactory  one.. 
It  went  through  several  editions  in  his  life-time,  and  will  always  command  a  certain  degree 
of  attention. 

t  Gaspar  Scioppius,  a  learned  German,  who  wrote  in  the  seventeenth  century,  was  called 
"  the  grammatical  cur,"  on  account  of  his  spiteful  and  injurious  way  of  calumniating  all  who 
were  eminent  for  their  erudition.  He  was  one  of  the  class  who,  themselves  not  meriting  nor 
obtaining  success,  consider  it  unpardonable  in  others  to  be  more  deserving  and  fortunate. — M. 

II  A  series  of  Irish  Melodies,  purporting  to  be  sent  by  "  Morty  Macnamara  Mulligan,"  of 
Dublin,  but  really  written  by  Maginn,  and  published,  with  music  and  words,  in  Blackwood, 
for  December,  1821.  They  were  to  have  commenced  a  series,  but  only  No.  1  appeared,  contain- 
ing six  melodies. — M. 

§  When  "  Anastasius"  first  appeared,  in  1819,  it  was  reviwed,  in  Blackivood,  as  written  by 
Lord  Byron.  The  late  Thomas  Hope,  whose  previous  literary  publications,  had  been  "  The 
Costumes  of  the  Ancients,"  and  "  Designs  of  Modern  Costumes,"  avowed  himself  the  author,  in 
a  brief  letter  which  was  printed  in  Blackwood.— M. 


1822.]  m  VINO.  135 

Odoherty.  It  will  be  a  long  while  ere  I  believe  that  Anastasius 
wrote  those  quartos  about  mahogany.  I  believe  he  might  furnish  the 
wood,  but,  by  Jericho,  did  he  carve  it  at  all  1 

Editor.  You  are  an  incorrigible  Irishman.  Have  you  any  news 
from  your  country  ?     It  seems  to  me  to  be  in  a  fine  state. 

Odoherty.  Why,  for  that  matter,  I  think  we  are  very  common- 
place in  our  national  diversions.  Sir  William  Chambers  complained 
of  nature  being  monotonous,  for  furnishing  only  earth,  air,  and 
water.  Blood  and  whisky  may  sum  up  all  the  amusements  of  the 
Irish  Whigs. — Burning,  throat-cutting,  shooting  an  old  proctor  or 
policeman — that's  all.  They  fight  in  a  cowardly  fashion.  There's 
my  cousin,  Tom  Magrath,  writes  me  he  saw  500  of  them  run  away 
from  about  forty  gentlemen.  One  of  the  chief  stimulants  the  poor 
devils  have,  is  a  prophecy  of  the  papist  Bishop  Walmesley,  (the  same 
that  goes  under  the  name  of  Pastorini,)  that  the  Protestant  church  is 
to  be  destroyed  in  1825.* 

Editor.  Why,  some  few  years  ago,  a  godly  squire  in  Ayrshire 
here,  published  a  thumping  book,  to  prove  that  Bonaparte  would 
die  in  1825,  at  the  siege  of  Jerusalem.  The  year  1825  will  be  a  rare 
one  when  it  comes. 

Odoherty.  These  events  will  furnish  fine  materials  for  a  new  hour's 
Tete-a-tete  with  the  public. \ 

Editor.  What  a  world  of  things  will  have  happened  ere  1825  ! 

Odoherty.  You  will  be  knocked  up  ere  then.  You  talk  about  your 
stomach — only  see  how  little  remains  in  the  bottle ! 

Editor.  I  had  finished  two  ere  you  came  in.  I  can  never  write 
without  a  bottle  beside  me.  Judge  Blackstone  followed  the  same 
plan,  he  had  always  a  bottle  of  port  by  him  while  he  was  at  his 
commentaries.  When  Addison  was  composing  his  Essay  on  the 
Evidences,  he  used  to  walk  up  and  down  the  long  room  in  Holland 
House — there  was  a  table  with  the  black  strap  at  each  end,  and  he 
always  turned  up  his  little  finger  twice  ere  he  had  polished  a  sentence 
to  his  mind.  J — I  believe  he  took  brandy  while  he  was  doing  the  last 
act  of  Cato.     There  is  no  good  wanting  without  one  glass. 

"Nemo  bene  potest  scribere  jejunus." 

Odoherty.  I  prefer  smoking,  on  the  whole.  But  I  have  no  objec- 
tion to  a  glass  of  punch  along  with  it.     It  clears  our  mouth. 

*  The  prophecy  -was : 

"  In  the  year  eighteen  hundred  twenty-five, 
There  will  not  be  a  Protestant  alive." 

I  was  in  the  south  of  Ireland,  on  New  Year's  Day,  1825,  and  recollect  seeing  several  Protes- 
tants, who  were  going  to  attend  divine  service,  stealthily  take  loaded  pistols  with  them,  fearing 
that  a  general  massacre  was  in  contemplation,  and  resolving  to  sell  their  lives  dearly. — M. 

t  The  name  of  an  amusing,  chatty  article  which  had  appeared  in  Blackivood,  some  timo 
before  (evidently  written  by  Wilson.)  and  had  gained  great  approbation  from  the  patient 
public. — M. 

X  This  is  the  tradition  at  Holland  House. — M. 


136  NOCTES  -AMBROSIAN^.  [March, 

Editor.  "  Experto  crede  Roberto." 

Odoherty.  I  am  glad  to  see  you  have  dropt  your  cursed  humbug 
articles  on  German  Plays.  I  hate  all  that  trash.  Is  Kempferhausen 
defunct  % 

Editor,  I  had  a  present  of  two  aums  of  Johannisberg  from  him  not 
a  weelt  ago. 

Odoherty.  The  piperly  fellow  once  promised  me  a  few  dozens; 
but  he  took  it  amiss  that  I  peppered  him  so  at  the  Tent. 

Editor.  I  am  sure  you  would  have  sold  it  to  Ambrose  if  you  had 
got  it. — Will  you  have  some  supper  ? 

Odoherty.  Excuse  me,  I  never  eat  supper. 

Editor^  (Rings.)  Waiter,  Welsh  rabbits  for  five,  scolloped  oysters 
for  ten,  six  quarts  of  porter,  and  covers  for  two. 

Waiter.  It  is  all  ready,  sir ;  Mr.  Ambrose  knew  what  you  would 
want  the  moment  the  Captain  came  in. 

Odoherty.  I  am  thinking  seriously  of  writing  some  book.  What 
shape  do  you  recommend  1     I  was  thinking  of  a  quarto. 

Editor.  A  duodecimo  you  mean ;  will  a  quarto  go  into  a  sabre- 
tache, or  a  work-basket,  or  a  reticule  1  Are  you  the  bishop  of  Win- 
chester ?* 

Odoherty.  What  bookseller  do  you  recommend?  (These  are 
prime  powldoodies !) 

Editor.  Ebony  to  be  sure,  if  he  will  give  the  best  price.  But  be 
sure  you  don't  abuse  his  temper.  There  was  a  worthy  young  man 
done  up  only  a  few  months  ago  by  the  cockney  poets.  He  gave 
£100  to  one  for  a  bundle  of  verses,  (I  forget  the  title,)  of  which  just 
thirty  copies  were  sold.  They  were  all  at  him  like  leeches,  and  he 
was  soon  sucked  to  the  bone.  You  must  not  tip  Ebony  any  shabby 
trash — you  must  be  upon  honor,  Mr.  Odoherty.  You  have  a  great 
name,  and  you  must  support  it.  If  you  mind  your  hits,  you  may 
rise  as  high  as  any  body  I  know  in  any  of  the  slang  lines. 

Odoherty.  You  flatter  me !     Butter! 

Editor.  Not  one  lick  !  Egan  is  not  worthy  of  holding  a  candle  to 
your  Boxiana ;  and  yet  Egan  is  a  prime  swell.  You  should  get  little 
Cruikshank  to  draw  the  vignettes ;  your  life  would  sell  as  well  as 
Hogg's,  or  Haggart's,  or  any  body  else,  that  I  rem  ember,  f 

Odoherty.  You'll  cut  a  great  figure  in  it  yourself. 

Editor.  A  good  one,  you  mean  % 

Odoherty.  No,  d ,  I  scorn  to  flatter  you,  or  any  man.     I  shall 

tell  the  truth,  all  the  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth.     Do  you 

*  The  Bishop's  Life  of  William  Pitt  had  appeared  in  quarto. — M. 

t  The  articles  called  "  Boxiana," — which  have  been  generally  attributed  to  Maginn — ran 
through  several  volumes  of  Blackwood.  They  gave  the  history  of  the  English  prize-ring. 
Pierce  Egan  wrote  the  work  on  which  they  were  based,  and  was  additionally  notorious  as 
Editor  of  Bell's  Life,  a  sporting  paper,  and  author  of  ''  Life  in  London,"  which,  when  drama- 
tized, had  more  success  than  any  performance  which  the  London  play-goers  had  seen  for  years. 
"  Life  in  London"  was  illustrated  by  George  Cruikshank  and  his  brother  Robert.— M. 


1822.]  SCANDALTIM   MAGNATUM.  137 

expect  me  to  say  that  you  are  a  handsome  man  1  Or  that  you  have 
slim  ankles?  Or  that  you  don't  squint?  Or  that  you  understand 
the  whole  doctrine  of  quadrille?  Or  that  you  are  the  author  of 
Waverley  ?  Or  the  author  of  Anastasius  ?  Are  these  the  bams  you 
expect  ? 

Editor.  Say  that  I  am  the  author  of  the  Chaldee,  and  I  am  satis- 
fied. 

Odoherty.  No,  I'll  stick  to  my  own  rule.  I'll  claim  it  myself.  I'll 
challenge  Hogg  if  he  disputes  the  point. 

Editor.  I  hope  you'll  shoot  potatoes ;  for  I  could  not  afford  to  lose 
either  of  you !  you  are  both  of  you  rum  ones  to  look  at,  but  devils 
to  go. 

Odoherty.  I  intend  to  be  modest  as  to  my  amours. 

Editor.  You  had  better  not.  The  ladies  won't  buy  if  you  do  so. 
Your  amour  with  Mrs.  Macwhirter*  raised  my  sale  considerably. 

Odoherty.  This  is  a  very  delicate  age.  I  fear  nothing  at  all  high 
would  go  down  with  it. 

Editor.  Why  there's  a  vast  deal  of  cant  afloat  as  to  this  matter ; 
people  don't  know  what  they  are  speaking  about.  Show  me  any 
production  of  genius,  written  in  our  time,  which  does  not  contain 
what  they  pretend  to  abhor. 

Odoherty.  Why,  there's  the  Edinburgh  Review — you  must  at 
least  allow  'tis  a  decent  work. 

Editor.  Have  you  forgotten  Sidney  Smith's  article  about  mission- 
aries ? — I  won't  repeat  the  names  of  some  of  them. 

Odoherty.  The  Quarterly? 

Editor.  Why,  Gifford  and  I  are  old  boys,  and  past  our  dancing 
days ;  but  I  believe  you  will  find  some  very  sly  touches  here  and 
there. 

Odoherty.  Byron  ? 

Editor.  Poh!  you're  wild  now.  We  may  despise  the  cant  about 
him,  but  you  must  confess  that  there's  always  a  little  of  luhafs  ivrong 
in  the  best  of  his  works.  Even  the  Corsair  seems  to  have  flirted  a 
bit  now  and  then.     And  Juan,  you  know,  is  a  perfect  Richelieu. f 

Odoherty.  Have  you  anything  to  say  against  the  Waverley 
novels  ? 

Editor.  Not  much.  Yet  even  the  old  Dame  Noma  in  the  Pirate 
seems  to  have  danced  in  her  youth.  I  strongly  suspect  her  son  was 
a  mere  filius  carnalis. 

Odoherty.  What  of  Kenil worth,  then  ? 

Editor.  'Tis  all  full  of  going  about  the  bush.  One  always  sees 
what  Elizabeth  is  thinking  about.     She  has  never  some  handsome 

*  This  amour  is  related,  rather  particularly,  in  the  Memoirs  of  Odoherty,  and  the  lady's  last 
appearance  was,  in  The  Tent.— M. 

t  Not  the  Cardinal,  but  the  Due  de  Richelieu,  of  the  Orleans  Regency,  equally  distinguished 
for  his  profligacy  and  valor. — M. 


138  NOCTES  AMBROSIAi;rJE.  [March, 

fellow  or  other  out  of  her  mind.  And  then  the  scene  where  Leices- 
ter and  Amy  get  up  is  certainly  rather  richly  colored.  There  is 
nothing  a  whit  worse  in  the  Sorrows  of  Werter,  or  Julia  de  Rou- 
bigne,  or  any  of  that  sentimental  set. 

Odoherty.  Milman  is  a  very  well-behaved  boy.  You  can  say 
nothing  of  that  sort  against  him. 

Editor.  He  is  a  very  respectable  man,  and  a  clergyman  to  boot ; 
but  the  bridal  songs  in  his  Fall  of  Jerusalem  are  not  much  behind 
what  a  layman  might  have  done.     There  are  some  very  luxurious 

hits  in  that  part  of  the  performance.     Did  you  attend  old  P 's 

sale  when  you  were  in  town  1 

Odoherty.  No,  I  can't  say  I  did ;  but  I  hear  there  was  a  fine  collec- 
tion of  the  Facetiae,  and  other  forbidden  fruits.  A  friend  of  mine 
got  the  editio  princeps  of  Poggio,*  but  he  sweated  for  it.  The 
Whigs  bid  high.  They  worked  to  keep  all  those  tit-bits  for  them- 
selves. 

Editor.  Does  this  affair  of  Lord  Byron's  Mystery  j-  create  any  sen- 
sation in  London  1 

Odoherty.  Very  little.  The  parsons  about  Murray's  shop  are 
not  the  most  un tractable  people  in  the  world,  otherwise  they  would 
never  have  abstained  so  long  from  attacking  Juan,  Beppo,  and  the 
rest  of  Byron's  improprieties — they  that  are  so  foul-mouthed  against 
Shelley,  and  such  insignificant  blasphemers  as  that  Cockney  crew. 

Editor.  I  have  often  wondered  at  the  face  they  show  in  that  omis- 
sion. 

Odoherty.  Eeally  ? 

Editor.  No  doubt  a  bookseller  must  have  something  to  say  as  to 
his  own  Review.  But  the  thing  should  not  be  pushed  too  far,  else  a 
noodle  can  see  through  it. 

Odoherty.  Meaning  me  % 

Editor.  Not  at  all.  But  as  to  Cain,  I  entirely  differ  from  the 
Chancellor.  I  think,  if  Cain  be  prosecuted,  it  will  be  a  great  shame. 
The  humbug  of  the  age  will  then  have  achieved  its  most  visible  tri- 
umph. 

Odoherty.  I  never  saw  it,  but  I  thought  it  had  been  blasphe- 
mous. 

Editor.  No,  sir,  I  can't  see  that.  The  Society  might  have  had  some 
pretence  had  they  fallen  on  Don  Juan ;  but  I  suppose  those  well-fed 
Archdeacons,  and  so  forth,  have  their  own  ways  of  observmg  certain 
matters. 

*  Poggio  Bracciolini,  Apostolical  Secretary  to  eight  Popes,  but  a  profligate  in  his  conduct  and 
■writings.     He  lived  in  the  fifteenth  century. — M. 

t  "  Cain,^  Mystery,"  dedicated  to  Scott,  was  written  at  Ravenna  in  the  autumn  of  1S21,  and 
published  in  December  of  that  year.  It  was  pirated.  Murray  applied  for  an  injunction  against 
the  pirates,  and  the  Chancellor  (Eldon,)  declared  that  an  immoral  or  irreligious  book  was  not 
entitled  to  protection. — M. 


1822.] 


BYEON   TO   MURRAY.  139 


Odoherty.  Have  you  seen  Lord  Byron's  letter  on  the  subject  to 
Mr.  Murray  ? 

Editor.   Yes  ;  'tis  in  the  papers. 

Odoherty.  A  bite !  that's  the  prose  edition.  It  was  written  origin- 
ally in  verse,  but  Murray's  friends  thought  it  would  have  more  effect 
if  translated  into  prose ;  and  a  young  clergyman,  who  writes  in  the 
Quarterly,  turned  the  thing  very  neatly,  considering ;  I  believe  I  have 
a  copy  of  Lord  Byron's  own  letter  in  my  pocket. 

Editor.  Let's  see  it. 

Odoherty.  You  shall  have  it. 

BYRON    TO    MURRAY.* 
Attacks  on  me  were  what  I  look'd  for,  Murray, 

But  why  the  devil  do  they  badger  you  ? 
These  godly  newspapers  seem  hot  as  curry, 

But  don't,  dear  Publisher,  be  in  a  stew. 
They'll  be  so  glad  to  see  you  in  a -flurry — 

I  mean  those  canting  Quacks  of  your  Review — 
They  fain  would  have  you  all  to  their  own  Set ; 

But  never  mind  them — we're  not  parted  yet. 
They  surely  don't  suspect  you,  Mr.  John, 

Of  being  more  than  accoucheur  to  Cain ; 
What  mortal  ever  said  you  wrote  the  Don  ? 

I  dig  the  mine — you  only  fire  the  train  1 
But  here — why,  really,  no  great  lengths  I've  gone — 

Big  wigs  and  buzz  were  always  my  disdain — 
But  my  poor  shoulders  why  throw  all  the  guilt  on  ? 

There's  as  much  blasphemy,  or  more,  in  Milton. 

*  Letter  from  Lord  Byron  to  Mr.  Murray. 

Pisa,  Feb.  S,  1S22. 

Dear  Sir — Attacks  upon  me  were  to  be  expected  ;  but  I  perceive  one  upon  you  in  the  papers, 
which,  I  confess,  that  I  did  not  expect.  How,  or  in  what  manner  you  can  be  considered  re-, 
sponsible  for  what  I  publish,  I  am  at  a  loss  to  conceive.  If  "  Cain,"  be  "  blasphemous,"  Para- 
dise Lost  is  blasphemous;  and  the  very  words  of  the  Oxford  Gentleman,  "Evil  be  thou,  my 
good,"  are  from  that  very  poem,  from  the  mouth  of  Satan ;  and  is  there  any  thing  more  in  that 
of  Lucifer  in  the  Mystery]  Cain  is  nothing  more  than  a  drama,  not  a  piece  of  argument.  If 
Lucifer  and  Cain  speak  as  the  first  murderer  and  the  first  rebel  may  be  supposed  to  speak,  surely 
all  the  rest  of  the  personages  talk  also  according  to  their  characters ;  and  the  stronger  passions 
have  ever  been  permitted  to  the  drama.  1  have  even  avoided  introducing  the  Deity,  as  in 
Scripture  (though  Milton  does,  and  not  very  wisely  either;)  but  have  adopted  his  angel,  as  sent 
to  Cain,  instead,  on  purpose  to  avoid  shocking  any  feelings  on  the  subject,  by  falling  short  of, 
what  all  uninspired  men  must  fall  short  in,  viz.  giving  an  adequate  notion  of  the  eff"ect  of  the 
presence  of  Jehovah.  The  old  mysteries  introduced  him  liberally  enough,  and  all  this  is 
avoided  in  the  new  one. 

The  attempt  to  bully  you,  because  they  think  it  will  not  succeed  with  me,  seems  to  me  as 
atrocious  an  attempt  as  ever  disgraced  the  times.  What !  when  Gibbon's,  Hume's,  Priestle^'-'s, 
and  Drummond's  publishers  have  been  allowed  to  rest  in  peace  for  seventy  years,  are  ijou  to  be 
singled  out  for  a  work  oi  fiction,  not  of  history  or  argument?  There  must  be  something  at  the 
bottom  of  this — some  private  enemy  of  your  own — it  is  otherwise  inci-edible. 

I  can  only  say,  "  Me — me  adsum  qui  feci^''  that  any  proceedings  directed  against  you,  I  beg 
may  be  transferred  to  me,  who  am  willing  and  ought  to  endure  them  all ;  that  if  you  have  lost 
money  by  the  publication,  I  will  refund  any,  or  all  of  the  copyright ;  that  I  desire  you  will  say, 
that  both  you  and  Mr.  Gifford  remonstiated  against  the  publication,  as  also  Mr.  Hobhouse  ;  that 
I  alone  occasioned  it,  and  I  alone  am  the  person  who  either  legally  or  otherwise  should  bear 
the  burthen.  If  they  prosecute,  I  will  come  to  England  ;  that  is,  if  by  meeting  it  in  my  own 
person,  I  can  save  yours.  Let  me  know— you  sha'n't  suffer  for  me,  if  I  can  help  it.  Make  any 
use  of  this  letter  which  you  please.    Yours  ever,  Byron. 


140  NOOTES   AMBROSIAN^.  [March, 

The  thing 's  a  drama,  not  a  sermon-book ; 

Here  stands  the  murderer — that 's  the  old  one  there ; 
In  gown  and  cassock  how  would  Satan  look  ? 

Shoul'd  Fratricides  discourse  like  Doctor  Blair  ? 
The  puritanic  Milton  freedom  took, 

Which  now-a-days  would  make  a  bishop  stare ; 
But  not  to  shock  the  feelings  of  the  age, 
I  only  bring  you  angels  on  the  stage. 
To  bully  You — yet  shrink  from  battling  Me, 

Is  baseness.     Nothing  baser  stains  "  The  Times." 
While  Jeffrey  in  each  catalogue  I  see, 

While  no  one  talks  of  priestly  Playfair's  crimes. 
While  Drummond,  at  Marseilles,  blasphemes  with  glee, 

Why  all  this  row  about  my  harmless  rhymes  ? 
Depend  on 't,  Piso,  't  is  some  private  pique 
'Mong  those  that  cram  your  Quarterly  with  Greek. 

If  this  goes  on,  I  wish  you'd  plainly  tell  'em, 

'T  were  quite  a  treat  to  me  to  be  indicted ; 
Is  it  less  sin  to  write  such  books  than  sell  'em  ? 

There's  muscle ! — I  'm  resolved  1 11  see  you  righted. 
In  me,  great  Sharpe,  in  me  converte  telum  I 

Come,  Doctor  Sewell,  show  you  have  been  knighted. 
— On  my  account  you  never  shall  be  dunn'd, 

The  copyright,  in  part,  I  will  refund. 
You  may  tell  all  who  come  into  your  shop, 

You  and  your  Bull-dog  both  remonstrated  ; 
My  Jackall  did  the  same,  you  hints  may  drop, 
•    (All  which,  perhaps,  you  have  already  said.) 
Just  speak  the  word,  I  '11  fly  to  be  your  prop, 

They  shall  not  touch  a  hair,  man,  in  your  head. 
You  're  free  to  print  this  letter ;  you  're  a  fool 
If  you  do  n't  send  it  first  to  the  John  Bull.* 

Editor.  Come,  this  is  a  good  letter.  If  I  had  been  Murray  I  would 
not  have  thought  of  the  prose.     I'll  be  hanged  if  I  would. 

Odoherty.  Is  there  any  thing  new  in  the  literary  world  here  1 

Editor.  Not  much  that  I  hear  of.  There's  Colonel  Stewart's 
History  of  the  Highland  Regiments,  one  of  the  most  entertaining 
books  that  have  been  published  this  long  time.  You're  a  soldier, 
you  must  review  it  for  me  in  my  next  number.f 

Odoherty.  I  think  I'll  tip  you  a  series  of  articles  on  the  history  of 
the  Irish  regiments.  I'm  sure  I  know  as  many  queer  stories  about 
them  as  any  colonel  of  them  all.     Is  the  book  well  written  1 

Editor.  Plainly,  but  sensibly,  and  elegantly  too,  I  think.  Not 
much  of  the  flash  that's  in  vogue,  but  a  great  deal  of  feeling  and  truth. 
Some  of  the  anecdotes  are  quite  beautiful,  and  the  Colonel's  view  of 
the  Highland  character  is  admirably  drawn. 

•  The  poetical  version  was  by  Maginn. — M. 

t  In  the  April  number  of  Blackwood,  the  opening  article  was  a  review  of  Colonel  David 
Stewart's  Sketches  of  the  Highland  Regiments — not  written,  however,  by  Odoherty. — M. 


1822.]  NEW  BOOKS.  141 

Odoherty.  I'm  glad  to  hear  it.  Few  officers  write  well  except 
Julius  Cassar,  the  Heavy  Horseman,*  and  myself. 

Editor.  You  forget  General  Burgoyne. 

Odoherty.  Aye,  true  enough.     The  General  was  a  sweet  fellow,  f 

Editor.  So  are  you  all.  Have  you  done  nothing  to  your  Cam- 
paigns 1     I'm  sure  they  would  sell  better  than  Southey's. 

Odoherty.  That's  no  great  matter,  perhaps.  I  don't  think  the 
Laureate  has  much  of  a  military  eye.  J; 

Editor.  How  does  the  John  Bull  get  on  1 

Odoherty.  Famously,  they  say.  I'm  told  they  divided  £6000  at 
the  end  of  the  first  year.  I  intend  contributing  myself  if  you  do  not 
pay  me  better. 

Editor.  Why,  how  much  would  you  have  1  Are  you  not  always 
sure  of  your  twenty  guineas  a-sheet  %  I'm  sure  that's  enough  for 
such  articles  as  yours.     You  never  take  any  pains. 

Odoherty.  If  I  did,  they  would  not  be  worth  five. — Have  you  seen 
John  Home's  Life  1 

Editor.  To  be  sure. — 'Tis  very  amusing.  The  old  gentleman 
writes  as  well  as  ever.||  I  wish  he  would  try  his  hand  at  a  novel 
once  more. 

Odoherty.  Why,  no  novels  sell  now  except  the  Author  of  Wav- 
erley's. 

Editor.  Write  a  good  one,  and  I  warrant  you  'twill  sell.  There's 
Adam  Blair  has  taken  like  a  shot ;  and  Sir  Andrew  Wylie  is  almost 
out  of  print  already.§ 

Odoherty.  I  don't  think  Sir  Andrew  near  so  good  as  the  Annals 
of  the  Parish. — What  say  you  % 

*  Poems  by  EdWard  Q,-aillinan  (who  was  successively  the  son-in-law  of  Sir  Egerton  Brydges 
and  Wordsworth,)  were  reviewed,  in  Blackwood,  by  Captain  Hamilton,  who,  because  their 
author  was  or  had  been  in  the  army,  treated  them  as  if  written  by  a  Heavy  Dragoon.  The 
critique  was  so  personal  as  to  be  offensive,  and  Captain  Q,uillinan  went  to  Edinburgh  to  chal- 
lenge the  reviewer,  whoever  he  might  be.  Accidentally  sitting  next  Hamilton  at  dinner, 
Quillinan  was  so  much  pleased  with  him  as  to  accept  his  invitation  to  have  a  cigar  and  walk 
home  together.  In  the  course  of  their  conversation  Quillinan  mentioned  how  difficult  he 
found  it  to  ascertain  the  authorship  of  an  article  in  Blackwood,  and  mentioned  his  own  par- 
ticular grievance  of  the  critique.  Hamilton  smiled,  and  said,  "  My  dear  fellovr,  there  was  no 
private  spleen  in  the  matter.  I,  who  wrote  the  article,  knew  nothing  of  the  author  I  was  quiz- 
zing, and  am  sorry  that,  by  accident,  I  annoyed  you."'  There  was  no  more  enmity  nor  anger, 
and  they  remained  warm  friends  through  life. — M. 

t  This  is  the  General  Burgoyne  who  had  a  British  command  here,  in  the  Revolutionary  war 
and  issued  an  address  to  the  native  Indians,  in  such  an  inflated  and  turgid  style  as  to  fix  on  hirn 
the  sobriquet  of  Chrononhotonthologos.  His  surrender  at  Saratoga,  with  all  his  army,  caused 
much  dissatisfaction  in  England,  and  one  of  the  epigrams  of  the  day,  which  also  embodied  the 
name  of  the  successful  American  general,  ran  thus  : 

Burgoyne,  unconscious  of  impending  fates, 

Could  cut  his  way  through  woods— but  not  through  Gates. 

He  was  dismissed  the  British  service  for  having  refused  to  return  to  America,  (his  visit  to 
England  being  on  his  parole)  pursuant  to  the  terms  of  the  convention,  but  was  restored  three 
years  after.     He  was  a  successful  dramatic  writer. — M. 

I  Southey's  History  of  the  Peninsular  War. — M. 

II  Life  of  John  Home,  author  of  "Douglas,'"  by  Henry  Mackenzie.— M. 

$  "  Adam  Blair,"  a  tale  of  intense  passion,  suffering,  and  expiation,  by  Lockhart  "  Sir 
Andrew  Wylie,"  one  of  Gait's  novels  of  familiar  life,  improbable  in  incidents,  and  exaggerated 
in  character,  but  clever,  amusing,  and  full  of  natural  interest. — M. 


142  NOCTES  AMBROSIAl^^.  [March, 

Editor.  I  agree  with  you.  The  story  is  d —  improbable ;  the 
hero  a  borish  fellow,  an  abominable  bore !  but  there  is  so  much 
cleverness  in  the  writing,  and  many  of  the  scenes  are  so  capitally 
managed,  that  one  can  never  lay  down  the  book  after  beginning  it. 
On  the  whole,  'tis  a  very  strange  performance.  I  hear  the  Provost 
is  likely  to  be  better,  however. 

Odoherty.  The  Author  has  a  vast  deal  of  humor,  but  he  should 
stick  to  what  he  has  seen.     The  first  part  of  Wylie  is  far  the  best. 

Editor.  The  scene  with  old  George  is  as  good  as  possible. 

Odoherty.  It  is.     Why  did  he  not  produce  the  present  King  too  ? 

Editor.  He  will  probably  have  him  some  other  time.  If  he  could 
but  write  stories  as  well  as  the  King  tells  them,=^  he  would  be  the 
first  author  of  his  time. 

Odoherty.  Were  you  ever  in  company  with  the  King,  North  1 

Editor.  Three  or  four  times, — long  ago  now,  when  he  used  to  come 
a-hunting  in  the  New  Forest. 

Odoherty.  Will  he  come  to  Scotland  this  summer  % 

Editor.  One  can  never  be  sure  of  a  King's  movements  ;  but  'tis  said 
he  is  quite  resolved  upon  the  trip.f 

Odoherty.  What  will  the  Whigs  do  ? 

Editor.  Poh  !  the  Whigs  here  are  nobody.  Even  Lord  Moira 
could  not  endure  them.  He  lived  altogether  among  the  Tories  when 
he  was  in  Scotland.^  The  Whigs  would  be  queer  pigs  at  a  drawing- 
room. 

Odoherty.  Sir  Konald  Ferguson  seems  to  be  a  great  spoon. 

Editor.  He  is  what  he  seems.  At  the  Fox  dinner,  t'other  day,  he 
came  prepared  with  two  speeches ;  one  to  preface  the  memory  of  old 
Charlie ;  the  other  returning  thanks  for  his  own  health  being  drunk. 
He  forgot  himself,  and 'transposed  them.  He  introduced  Fox  with 
twenty  minutes'  harangue  about  his  own  merits,  and  then,  discover- 
ing his  mistake,  sat  down  in  such  a  quandary  ! 

Odoherty.  Good  !  they're  a  pretty  set.  What  sort  of  a  thing  is 
the  Thane  of  Fife — Tennant's  poem  1 

Editor.  Mere  humbug — quite  defunct. 

Odoherty.  What  are  they  saying  about  Hogg's  new  romance, 
"  The  Three  Perils  of  Man  ;  or,  War,  Women,  and  Witchcraft," — Is 
not  that  the  name  1 

Editor.  I  think  so.  I  dare  say  'twill  be  like  all  his  things, — a 
mixture  of  the  admirable,  the  execrable,  and  the  tolerable.  It  is  to 
be  published  by  some  London  house. 

*  Scott  repeatedly  said  that  George  IV.  -was  an  admirable  story-teller. — M. 

t  George  IV.  visited  Scotland  in  the  autumn  of  1822. — M. 

%  Lord  Moira,  in  the  peerage  of  Ireland,  and  afterwards,  Marquis  of  Hastings,  in  that  of 
England,  bore  the  name  of  Lord  Rawdon,  when  he  served  in  the  British  army,  during  the 
Revolutionary  war.  He  died  in  1825,  after  having  been  Governor-General  of  India  and 
Governor  of  Malta.  One  of  his  daughters  was  Lady  Flora  fastings,  "done  to  death  by  evil 
tongues,"  in  the  Court  of  Q,ueen  Victoria,  in  1839. — M. 


18231]  LITEEATUEE   OF   THE   DAY.  143 

Odoherty.  Does  he  never  come  to  Edinburgh  now  I 

Editor.  Oh  yes,  now  and  then  he  is  to  be  seen  about  five  in  the 
morning,  selling  sheep  in  the  Grassmarket.  I  am  told  he  is  a  capital 
manager  about  his  farm,  and  getting  rich  apace. 

Odoherty.  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  I'm  sorry  I  wrote  that  article  on 
his  life.*     It  was  too  severe,  perhaps. 

Editor.  Never  mind  ;  'tis  quite  forgotten.  He  is  now  giving  out 
that  he  wrote  it  himself. 

Odoherty.  It  was  a  devilish  good  article.  He  could  not  have 
written  three  lines  of  it. 

Editor.  No,  no,  but  neither  could  you  have  written  three  lines  of 
Kilmeny,  no,  nor  one  line  of  his  dedication  to  Lady  Anne  Scott. 
Hogg's  a  true  genius  in  his  own  style.  Just  compare  him  with  any 
of  the  others  of  the  same  sort;  compare  him  with  Clare  for  a 
moment,  f  Upon  my  word,  Hogg  appears  to  me  to  be  one  of  the 
most  wonderful  creatures  in  the  world,  taking  all  things  together.  I 
wish  he  would  send  me  more  articles  than  he  does,  and  take  more 
pains  with  them. 

Odoherty.  Is  Dr.  Scott  in  town  '\ 

Editor.  No — he's  busy  writing  the  Odontist.|  They  say  it  will 
be  the  oddest  jumble.  All  his  life — every  thing  he  has  seen,  or 
might  have  seen,  from  a  boy — and  some  strange  anecdotes  of  the 
French  Eevolution. 

Odoherty.  Was  he  ever  in  the  Bastile  "? 

Editor.  Oh  yes,  and  in  the  Temple  too.  He  has  been  every- 
where but  at  Timbuctoo. 

Odoherty.  Where  is  Timbuctoo  % 

Editor.  Somewhere  in  Egypt,  I  am  told.     I  never  was  there. 

Odoherty.  What  is  your  serious  opinion  about  the  present  state  of 
literature  % 

Editor.  Why,  we  live  in  an  age  that  will  be  much  discussed  when 
'tis  over — a  very  stirring,  productive,  active  age — a  generation  of 
commentators  will  probably  succeed — and  I,  for  one,  look  to  furnish 
them  with  some  tough  work.  There  is  a  great  deal  of  genius  astir, 
but,  after  all,  not  many  first-rate  works  produced.  If  I  were  asked 
to  say  how  many  will  survive,  I  could  answer  in  a  few  syllables. 
Wordsworth's  Ballads  will  be  much  talked  of  a  hundred  years  hence ; 
so  will  the  Waverley  Novels ;  so  will  Don  Juan,  I  think,  and 
Manfred ;  so  will  Thalaba,  and  Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage,  and  the 
Pilgrimage  to  the  Kirk  of  Shotts,  and  Christabel  — 

Odoherty.  And  the  Essay  on  the  Scope  and  Tendency  of  Bacon.  || 

*  A  "  slashing"  review  in  Blackwood,  of  the  life  of  Hogg,  which  had  appeared  in  Constable's 
Magazine. — M. 

t  John  Clare,  the  Northamptonshire  Peasant  (as  he  was  called),  wrote  pretty  verses.  Some 
of  Hogg's  poetry  will  perish  only  with  the  langiaage  in  which  they  are  writ.— M. 

X  He  was  not  Doctor,  and  "The  Odontist"  never  was  written. — M. 

ll  This  unfortunate  Essay,  the  constant  butt  of  the  wits  of  Ebonv,  was  Avritten  bv  Professor 
Macvey  Napier,  who  succeeded  Jeffrey  in  the  editorship  of  the  Kilin'biDgh  Nevicn<.--'Nl. 


144:  N0CTE8  AMBEOSIANiE.  [Mrch, 

Editor.  You  wag,  I  suppose  you  expect  to  float  yourself. 
Odoherty.  Do  you  1 

Editor.  None  of  your  quizzing  here,  Mr.  Odoherty.     I'll  get  Hogg 
to  review  your  next  book,  sir,  if  you  don't  mend  your  manners. 
Odoherty.  Do — I  would  fain  have  a  row,  as  I  say  in  my  song,^-     . 

"  O,  no  matter  with  Tvhom — no,  nor  what  it  was  for." 

Editor.  Aye,  you  are  always  in  that  mood. 

Odoherty.  Sometimes  only.     Do  you  disapprove  of  personality  ? 

Editor.  No,  no.  I  am  not  quite  fool  enough  to  sport  that ;  least 
of  all  to  you.  In  reviewing,  in  particular,  what  can  be  done  without 
personality  1  Nothing,  nothing.  What  are  books  that  don't  express 
the  personal  characters  of  their  authors  ;  ^nd  who  can  review  books, 
without  reviewing  those  that  wrote  them  ? 

Odoherty.  You  get  warm,  Christopher  ;  out  with  it. 

Editor.  Can  a  man  read  La  Fontaine,  Mr.  Odoherty,  without 
perceiving  his  personal  good  nature  ?  Swift's  personal  ill-nature  is 
quite  as  visible.  Can  a  man  read  Burns  without  having  the  idea  of  a 
great  and  a  bold  man — or  Barry  Cornwall,  without  the  very  uncom- 
fortable feeling  of  a  little  man  and  a  timid  one  1  The  whole  of  the 
talk  about  personality  is,  as  Fogarty*  says,  cant. 

Odoherty.  Get  on. 

Editor.  I  have  done.  Did  you  pick  me  up  any  good  new  hands 
when  you  were  in  town? 

Odoherty.  Several — two  or  three,  that  is.  But  I  think  the  less 
you  have  to  do  with  the  Cockney  underscrubs,  the  better. 

Editor.  You're  right  there. 

Odoherty.  Oh  yes,  I  have  no  love  of  the  "  Young  Geniuses  about 
town."  The  glorious  army  of  Parliamentary  reporters  has  no 
magnificence  in  my  eyes.  I  detest  news-writers — paragraphers — 
spouting-club  speechifiers — all  equally.  You  have  them  writing  on 
diflTerent  lays^  but  they  are  at  bottom^  with  very  few  exceptions,  the 
same  dirty  radicals,  —  meanly  born, — meanly  bred, —  uneducated 
adventurers,  who  have  been  thrown  upon  literature  only  by  having 
failed  as  attorneys,  apothecaries,  painters,  schoolmasters,  preachers, 
grocers  

Editor.    Or   Adjutants.— Ha !    ha! -This  Barry  Cornwall,   do 

they  still  puff  him  as  much  as  ever  1 

Odoherty.  Yes,  they  do ;  but  the  best  joke  is,  that  in  one  of  his 
own  prefaces  he  takes  the  trouble  to  tell  us  that  Mirandola,  (a  charac- 
ter in  one  of  his  playthings.)  is  not  the  same  man  with  Othello. 

Editor,  One  might  as  well  say  that  Tom  Thumb  is  not  the  same 
man  as  Richard  the  Third. 

•  Fogarty  O'Fogarty  was  the  nom  de  plume  of  Mr.  Gosnell,  son  of  an  apothecary  in  Cork, 
who  wrote   a  poem   in  Blackwood^  in  six  Cantos,  edited   by  Maginn,  and  called  "Daniel 

O'Rourke,"— M. 


1S22.]  *^THE   LIBERAL."  145 

Odohtrty.  Or  that  Joseph  Hume  is  not  Edmund  Burke. 

Ed i for.  Or  that  the  friend  of  Gerald*  is  not  the  exemplar  of  Sir 
Philip  Sidney. 

Odoheity.  Or  that  a  painted  broomstick  is  not  an  oak. 

Editor.  Or  that  Baby  Cornwall  is  not  Giant  Shakspeare.  To  be 
^serious,  do  you  think  Campbell  is  gaining  reputation  by  his  editor- 
.ship  ? 

Odoherty.  No;  nor  do  I  think  Byron  will  by  his.f 

Editor.  How  are  you  sure  of  that,  Ensign  1 

Odoherty.  The  Duke  of  Wellington  would  not  raise  himself  by  the 
best  of  all  possible  corn-bills.  Hannibal  did  not  raise  himself  by  his 
excellent  conduct  at  the  head  of  the  Carthaginian  Police.  Even  if 
Tom  Campbell  had  turned  out  the  prince  of  Editors,  I  should  still 
have  preferred  him  thinking  of 

On  Linden  when  the  sun  was  low, 
Ali  bloodless  lay  the  untrodden  snow, 
And  dark  as  winter  was  the  flow 

Of  Iser  rolling  rapidly. 

Editor.  You  are  getting  sentimental  now,  I  think.  Will  you 
have  another  tumbler'? 

Odoherty.  Hand  me  the  lemons.  This  holy  alliance  of  Pisa  will 
be  a  queer  affair.  J;  The  Examiner  has  let  down  its  price  from  a  ten- 
penny  to  a  sevenpenny.  They  say  the  editor  here  is  to  be  one  of 
that  faction,  for  they  must  publish  in  London  of  course. 

Editor.  Of  course ;  but  I  doubt  if  they  will  be  able  to  sell  many. 
Byron  is  a  prince ;  but  these  dabbling  dogglerers  destroy  every  dish 
they  dip  in. 

Odoherty.  Apt  alliteration's  artful  aid. 

Editor.  Imagine  Shelley,  with  his  spavin,  and  Hunt,  with  his 
stringhalt,  going  in  the  same  harness  with  such  a  caperer  as  Byron, 
three-a-breast !  He'll  knock  the  wind  out  of  them  both  the  first 
canter. 

Odoherty.  'Tis  pity  Keats  is  dead.|| — I  suppose  you  could  not 
venture  to  publish  a  sonnet  in  which  he  is  mentioned  now  ?  The 
Quarterly  (who  killed  him,  as  Shelley  says)  would  blame  you. 

Editor.  Let's  hear  it.     Is  it  your  own "? 

Odoherty.  No ;  'twas  written  many  months  ago  by  a  certain  great 
Italian  genius,  who  cuts  a  figure  about  the  London  routs — one 
Fudgiolo.§ 

*  "  The  friend  of  Gerald  "was  Sir  James  Mackintosh. — M. 

t  Of '^  The  Liberal."— M. 

t  The  alliance  between  Byron,  Shelley,  and  Leigh  Hunt,  in  the  production  of  the  Liberal.— 

II  John  Keats,  author  of  "Endymion,"  and  other  poems.  He  died  at  Rome,  in  December 
1820,  aged  twenty-four.  With  some  mannerisms,  he  had  wonderful  imagination,  delicate 
taste,  deep  sensibilities,  and  musical  expression  of  no  common  order, — M. 

$  Ugo  Foscolo,  an  Italian  poet  and  exile,  established  his  fame   by  his  "Letters  of  Ortis." 
He  contributed  largely  to  the  higher  periodicals,  and  died  in  London,  in  1827. — M. 
VOL.  I.  7 


146  NOCTES  AMBEOSIANJE.  [March, 

Editor.  Try  to  recollect  it. 
Odoherty.  It  began 

Signor  Le  Hunto,  gloria  di  Cocagna 

Chi  scrive  il  poema  della  Eimini 
Che  tutta  apparenza  ha,  per  Gemini, 

D'esser  cantato  sopra  la  montagna 
Di  bel  Ludgato,  o  nella  campagna 
D'Amsted,  o  sulle  marge  Serpentimini 
Com'  esta  Don  Giovanni  d'Endymini 

II  gran  poeta  d'Ipecacuanha  ? 
Tu  sei  il  Re  del  Cocknio  Parnasso 

Ed  egli  il  herede  apparente, 
Tu  sei  un  gran  Giacasso  ciertamente, 

Ed  egli  ciertamente  gran  Giacasso ! 
Tu  sei  il  Signor  del  Examinero 
Ed  egli  soave  Signor  del  Glystero. 

Editor.  I  don't  see  why .  Examinero  and  Glystero  should  be  so 
coupled  together. 

Odoherty.  Both  vehicles  of  dirt,  you  know. 

Editor.  You  have  me  there.  Who  is  Regent  at  present  during 
his  Majesty's  absence? 

Odoherty.  Of  course  Prince  John.*  I  don't  think  Hazlitt  is  in 
the  Council  of  Regency.  From  the  moment  King  George  went  to 
Hanover,  King  Leigh  was  in  the  fidgets  to  be  off. 

Editor.  What  a  cursed  number  of  sonnets  he'll  write  about  the 
Venus  de  Medicis  and  the  Hermaphrodite!  The  pictures  and 
statues  will  drive  him  clean  out  of  his  wits.  He'll  fall  in  love  with 
some  of  them. 

Odoherty,  If  he  sees  Niobe  and  her  Nine  Daughters,  he's  a  lost 
man. 

Editor.  Quite  done  for. 

Odoherty.  Will  the  ladies  admire  his  sonnets  when  they  come 
over? 

Editor.  According  to  Dr.  Colquhoun,f  there  is  one  parish  in 
London,  Mary-le-bone,  which  contains  50,000  ladies  capable  of 
appreciating  his  poetry. 

Odoherty.  Is  the  new  novel  nearly  ready — The  Fortunes  of  Nigel 
— is  not  that  it  % 

Editor.  I  hear  it  will  soon  be  out,J  and  that  it  is  better  than  the 
Pirate. 

Odoherty.  I  can  believe  that. 

*  John  Hunt.— M. 

t  Dr.  Patrick  Colquhoun  was  a  Police  Magistrate  in  London,  of  much  ability  and  shrewdness. 
He  published  several  works,  chiefly  connected  with  statistics  and  jurisprudence.  Of  these  his 
"  Treatise  on  the  Police  of  the  Metropolis,"  attracted  general  attention, from  its  anatomy  of  the 
lower  grades  of  society  in  London.     He  died  in  1820,  aged  seventy-five. — M 

J  "  The  Fortunes  of  Nigel,"  was  published  in  May,  1822.  It  was  reviewed,  very  briefly,  in 
Blackwood,  for  June. — M. 


182-2.]  A  YOLTJNTAET.  147 

Editor.  The  subject  is  better.     The  time  a  very  picturesque  one. 
I  am  informed,  that  we  may  expect  to  have  the  most  high  and  mighty 
Prince,  King  Jamie,  and   old   Geordie   Heriot,  introduced  in  high 
style. 
.  Odoherty.  In  London,  I  hope. 

Editor.  I  hope  so,  too.     I  think  he  shows  most  in  a  bustle. 

Odoherty.  I  don't  know.     I  like  the  glen  in  the  Monastery. 

Editor.  Your  affectation  is  consummate.  You  that  never  breathed 
at  ease  out  of  a  tavern,  to  be  sporting  romance. 

Odoherty.  I  have  written  as  many  sentimental  verses  as  any 
Sempstress  alive.     I  once  tried  an  epic  in  dead  earnest. 

Editor.  How  did  you  get  on  ? 

Odoherty.  My  heroine  was  with  child  at  the  end  of  the  first  canto, 
but  I  never  had  patience  to  deliver  her. 

Editor.  Have  you  still  got  the  MS.  1 

Odoherty.  Yes  ;  I  think  of  sending  it  to  Tom  Campbell,  or  Taylor 
and  Hessey,  or  the  Aberdeen  Review,  if  there  be  such  a  book  still. 

Editor.  I  never  heard  of  it ;  but  steamboats  and  magazines  are 
all  the  go  at  present.  They've  got  a  magazine  at  Brighton — 
another  at  Newcastle,  for  the  colliers — another  at  Dundee — and,  I 
believe,  five  or  six  about  Paisley  and  Glasgow.  You  may  choose 
which  you  like  best — they're  all  works  of  genius — Hogg  writes  in 
them  all. 

Odoherty.  I'll  sing  you  a  song.     {Sings.) 

Thus  speaks  out  Christopher, 

To  his  gallant  crew — 
Up  with  the  Olive  flag, 

Down  with  the  Blue  ; 

Fire  upon  Jeffrey, 

Fire  on  Sir  James, 
Fire  on  the  Benthams, 

Fire  on  the  Grahams. 

Fire  upon  Benuet, 

Fire  on  Joe  Hume 
Fire  upon  Lambton, 

Fire  upon  Brougham. 

Fire  upon  Hallam, 
Fire  upon  Moore, 
Spit  upon  Hazlitt, 

****** 

Pve  forgot  the  last  line.     'Tis  my  call.     Your  stave,  Christopher ! 
Editor.  {Rings.)  Waiter  !  if  Willison  Glass  be  in  the  house,  desire 
him  to  come  up  stairs,  and  he  shall  have  a  bottle  of  porter. 


148 


NOCTES   AMBROSIANJE. 


[March, 


Enter  Willison  Glass.* 

Willison.  What's  your  will  ? 

Editor.  Sing  the  dialogue  between  yourself  and  Jeremy  Bentham. 

Willison.  I  have  it  in  my  pocket,  sir — I  will  sing  directly,  sir — 
there's  a  running  commentary,  sir — would  you  be  pleased  to  hear  it 
too,  sir  % 

Editor.  Tip  us  the  affair  as  it  stands,  Willison. 

DIALOGUE  BETWEEN  WILLISON  GLASS,  ESQ.,  OF   EDINBURGH,  AND  JEREMY 

BENTHAM,  ESQ.,  OF  LONDON. 

1. 


Willison  inviteth 
Jeremy  to  the  sign 
of  the  Jolly  Bac- 
chus, whereof  he 
speaketh  in  com- 
mendation. 


Jeremy,  throw  your  pen  aside, 

And  come  get  drunk  with  me  ; 
"We'll  go  where  Bacchus  sits  astride, 

Perch'd  high  upon  barrels  three ; 
'Tis  there  the  ale  is  frothing  up, 

And  genuine  is  the  gin  ; 
So  we  shall  take  a  hberal  sup. 

To  comfort  our  souls  within. 


Jeremy  refuseth  the 
invitation,  blandly 
alleging  that  he  had 
much  rather  destroy 
the  young  man  of 
the  west,  and  other 
persons. 


Whereupon  Willi- 
son remindeth  him 
of  the  Quarterly, 
and  extol  lelh  the 
good  liquor. 


O  cheerier  than  the  nappy  ale. 

Or  the  Hollands  smacking  fine, 
Is  sitting  by  the  taper  pale. 

And  piling  line  on  line  ; 
Smashing  with  many  a  heavy  word 

Anti-usurersf  in  a  row. 
Or  pointing  arguments  absurd;}: 

To  level  the  Boroughs  low. 

3. 
Jeremy,  trust  me,  'tis  but  stuff 

To  scribble  the  livelong  night. 
While  the  Quarterly  bloodhounds  liowl  so  rough, 

And  so  gruesome  is  their  bite. 
But  down  at  the  sign  of  the  Triple  Tun, 

There's  nothing  hke  them  to  fear, 
But  sweet  is  its  brandy's  genial  run, 

And  barmy  is  its  beer. 


Jeremy  disvalueth 
beer,  brandy,  and 
the  Quarterly,  de- 
clares that  he  choos- 
eth  rather  to  eat 
lawyers  than  drink 
brandy. 


Brandy,  I  know,  is  liqUor  good. 

And  barmy  the  beer  may  be ; 
But  common  law  is  my  favorite  food,| 

And  it  must  be  cruuch'd  my  me  : 
And  I'm  writing  a  word  three  pages  long, 

The  Quarterly  dogs  to  rout, 
A  word  which  never  will  human  tongue 

Be  able  to  wind  about.§  . 


*  Willison  Glass,  vender  of  strong  liquors  and  maker  of  weak  verses,  has  been  already  noticed 
and  annotated  in  The  Tent. — M. 

t  See  Essay  on  the  Usury  Laws.        +  Reform  Catechism.       ||  Theorie  de  Legislation.— C.  N. 

^  Jeremy  Bentham,  in  his  day,  like  Thomas  Carlyle  in  ours^  invented  a  new  phraseology 
which  had  the  advantage  of  being  particularly  obscure. — M. 


1822.] 


WILLISON    GLASS   AND   BENTHAM. 


149 


5. 
Jeremy,  never  shall  tongue  of  mine 
-  Be  put  to  such  silly  use  ; 
I'll  keep  it  to  smack  the  brandy-wine, 

Or  barleycorn's  gallant  juice. 
Then  mount  your  mitre  on  your  skull. 

And  waddle  with  me,  my  lad, 
To  take  a  long  and  hearty  pull, 

At  the  brimmer  bumpering  glad. 


Willison  preferreth 
long  draughts  to 
long  -words. 


%v 


Though  ale  be  comforting  to  the  maw, 
.  Yet  here  I  still  shall  dwell, 
Until  I  prove  that  judge-made  law 

Is  uncogaoscible, — 
That  the  sehools  at  Canterbury's  beck* 

Exist  but  in  the  mind, 

And  that  T.  T.  Walmsey,  Esquire,  Sec. 

Is  no  more  than  a  spirit  of  wind.f 


Jeremy  bringeth  up 
his  nine-pounders, 
and  declareth  that 
he  is  a  Berkleian 
philosopher. 


Jeremy,  never  mind  such  trash, 

And  of  better  spirits  think. 
And  out  of  your  throat  the  cobwebs  wash 

With  a  foaming  flagon  of  drink ; 
For  'tis  sweet  the  pewter  pots  to  spy, 

Imprisoning  the  liquor  stout, 
As  jail-bird  rogues  are  ring'd  in  by 

Your  Panopticon  roundabout. 


Willison  compareth 
Jeremy's  Panoptic 
con  to  a  porter-pot 
in  a  pretty  simile. 


Sweeter  it  is  to  see  the  sheet 

With  paradox  scribbled  fair, 
Where  jawbreaking  words  every  line  you  meet, 

To  make  poor  people  stare. 
And  Sir  Richard  of  Bridge-street  my  books  shall  pu£f, 

And  Ensor  will  swear  them  fine,:}: 
And  Jeffrey  will  say,  though  my  style  is  tough, 

Yet  my  arguments  are  divine. 


Jeremy   calleth   on 
three  great  men, 


Sir  Pythagoras,  Geo. 
Ensor,  and  Master 
Francis  Jeffrey. 


Jeremy,  trust  me,  the  puff  of  the  three, 

(I  tell  you  the  truth  indeed,) 
Is  not  worth  the  puff  you'd  get  from  me. 

Of  the  pure  Virginian  weed. 
And  beneath  its  fume,  while  we  gaily  quaff 

The  beer  or  the  ruin  blue. 
You  at  the  world  may  merrily  laugh. 

Instead  of  its  laughing  at  you. 


Willison  disparag- 
ing the  three  ;  re- 
commendeth  to  blow 
a  cloud. 


♦  Church  of  Englandism.— C.  N. 

t  Mr.  Walmsley  was  Secretary  to  the  then  Archbishop  of  Canterbury. — M. 
i  Mr.  Richard  Phillips,  (of  Bridge-street,  Blackfriars),  publisher  and  editor,  was  very  likely 
to  "  pufP'  Bentham.    Mr.  Ensor  was  an  Irish  writer  on  Population,  Political  Economy,  &o, — M. 


150  NOCTES   AMBKOSIAIT^.  [March, 

10. 
Jeremy     proposeth         The  world  may  lay  what  it  likes  to  my  charge, 
fiSd'^'Sfa.',:        „Mav  laugh  o,.  m.j  say  I'm  crackU 

If  it  do,  I  shall  swear  that  the  world  at  large 

Is  no  more  than  a  jury  pack'd ; 
Such  a  jury  as  those  on  which  I  penn'd* 

A  Treatise  genteel  and  clear  ; 
And  I'll  read  it  now  to  you,  ray  friend, 
For  'twill  give  you  joy  to  hear. 

11. 
■who  thereupon  re-        Jeremy,  not  for  a  gallon  of  ale 

r«  J'S  ^^/Z."  1" f  "JS  Would  I  stay  that  book  to  hear ; 

and  departeuh  to  the  .  •{      •   i.^.  i       i    ^  i 

sign   of  the   Jolly  Why,  even  at  its  sight  my  cheek  turns  pale, 
Bacchus,    there    to  And  my  heart  leaps  up  like  a  deer, 

sing   about  Prince  g    j         ^    gf  without  more  delay, 
Charlie,   and    other  ,,  ,  .  .,,  ,•'' 

goodly  ballads.  And  My  courage  to  raise  with  a  glass  ; 

Jeremy  abideth  in  And  as  you  prefer  o'er  such  stuff  to  stay, 
his  place.  j'^  toast  you,  oiy  lad,  for  an  ass. 

{£Jxit  Willison  Glass.) 

Editor.  Well,  but  say  candidly,  what  have  you  been  doing  for 
us  1  Your  active  mind  niust  have  been  after  something.  I  heard 
lately,  (perhaps  it  was  said  in  allusion  to  your  late  detention  in 
London,)  that  you  were  engaged  with  a  novel,  to  be  entitled  "Fleet- 
ing Impressions." 

Odoherty.  You  are  quite  mistaken.  I  have  not  patience  for  a 
novel.     I  must  go  off  like  a  cracker,  or  an  ode  of  Horace. 

Editor.  Then  why  don't  you  give  us  an  essay  for  our  periodical  ? 

Odoherty.  To  prove  what  1  or  nothing.  When  I  last  saw  Cole- 
ridge, he  said  he  considered  an  essay,  in  a  periodical  publication,  as 
merely  "  a  say"  for  the  time — an  ingenious  string  of  sentences, 
driving  apparently,  with  great  vehemence,  towards  some  object,  but 
never  meant  to  lead  to  anything,  or  to  arrive  at  any  conclusion,  (for 
in  what  conclusion  are  the  public  interested  but  the  abuse  of  indivi- 
duals). Fortunately,  there  is  one  subject  for  critical  disquisition, 
which  can  never  be  exhausted. 

Editor.  What  is  this  treasure  1 

Odoherty.  The  question,  whether  is  Pope  a  poet  1 

Editor.  True !     But  confess,  Odoherty,  what  have  you  been  after? 

Odoherty.  The  truth  is,  I  have  some  thoughts  of  finishing  my 
tragedy  of  the  Black  Revenge. 

Editor.  Ye  gods !  what  a  scheme ! 

Odoherty.  The  truth  is,  I  must  either  do  this,  or  go  on  with  my 
great  quarto  disquisition,  on  "  The  Decline  and  Fall  of  Genius." 

Editor.  I  would  advise  to  let  alone  the  drama.  I  do  not  think  it 
at  present  a  good  field  for  the  exertion  of  genius. 

Odoherty.  For  what  reason.  Honey  1 

*  Elements  of  Packing.— C.  N. 


1822.]  PEOSE  FICTION.  151 

Editor.  I  think  the  good  novels,  which  are  published,  come  in 
place  of  new  dramas.  Besides,  they  are  better  fitted  for  the  present 
state  of  public  taste.  The  public  are  merely  capable  of  strong  sensa- 
tions, but  of  nothing  which  requires  knowledge,  taste,  or  judgment. 
A  certain  ideal  dignity  of  style,  and  regularity  of  arrangement,  must 
be  required  for  a  drama,  before  it  can  deserve  the  name  of  a  compo- 
sition. But  what  sense  have  the  common  herd  of  barbarians  of  com- 
position, or  order,  or  any  thing  else  of  that  kind  1 

Odoherty.  But  there  is  also  the  more  loose  and  popular  drama, 
which  is  only  a  novel  without  the  narrative  parts. 

Editor.  Yes,  the  acting  is  the  chief  difference.  But  I  think  the 
novel  has  the  advantage  in  being  without  the  acting,  for  its  power 
over  the  feelings  is  more  undisturbed  and  entire,  and  the  imagination 
of  the  reader  blends  the  whole  into  a  harmony  which  is  not  found  on 
the  stage.  I  think  those  who  read  novels  need  not  go  to  the  theatre, 
for  they  are  in  general  beforehand  with  the  whole  progress  of  the  story. 

Odoherty.  This  is  true  to  a  certain  extent.  But  novels  can  never 
carry  away  from  the  theatre  those  things  which  are  peculiarly  its 
own ;  that  is  to  say,  the  powers  of  expression  in  the  acting,  the  elo- 
quence of  declamation,  music,  buffoonery,  the  splendor  of  painted 
decorations,  &c. 

Editor.  You  are  perfectly  right.  Novels  may  carry  away  sympa- 
thy, plot,  invention,  distress,  catastrophe,  and  everything — (Vide Blair.) 

Odoherty.  Do  you  mean  Dr.  Blair,  or  Adam  Blair  1 

Editor.  The  latter.  I  say  the  novels  may  carry  away  all  these 
things,  but  the  theatre  must  still  be  strong  in  its  power  of  affecting 
the  senses.  This  is  its  peculiar  dominion.  Yet  our  populace  do 
not  much  seek  after  what  strikes  and  pleases  the  senses ;  for  the 
elegances  of  sight  and  hearing  require  a  sort  of  abstract  taste  which 
they  do  not  seem  to  have.  Any  thing  which  is  not  an  appeal  through 
sympathy  to  some  of  their  vulgar  personal  feelings,  appears  to  them 
uninteresting  and  unmeaning. 

Odoherty.  They  think  it  has  no  reference  to  meum  and  tuum. 

Editor.  It  probably  would  not  be  easy  to  find  a  people  more 
lamentably  deficient  in  all  those  liberal  and  general  feelings  which 
partake  of  the  quality  of  taste. 

Odoherty.  You  sink  me  into  despair.  I  think  I  must  betake  my- 
self to  my  old  and  favorite  study  of  theological  controversy,  and 
furnish  a  reply  to  Coplestone.  I  perceive  that  Lord  Byron,  in  his 
Mystery  of  Cain,  tends  very  much  to  go  off  into  the  same  disputes. 

Editor.  A  skeptically  disputatious  turn  of  mind,  appears  a  good 
deal  here  and  there  in  his  poetry. 

Odoherty.  I  suppose  you  think  Sardanapalus  the  best  Tragedy 
he  has  written.* 

*  One  scene  in  Sardanapalus  is  worth  nearly  all,  (from  its  intensity  of  regretful  tenderness, 


152  NoCTES   AMBROSIAN^.  [Mareb, 

EJitor.  Yes,  The  Foscari  is  interesting  to  read,  but  rather 
painful  and  disagreeable  in  the  subject.  Besides,  the  dialogue  is  too 
niiieh  in  the  short  and  pointed  manner  of  Alfieri.  When  a  play  is 
not  meant  to  be  acted,  there  is  no  necessity  for  its  having  that  hurry 
in  the  action  and  speeches,  which  excludes  wandering  strains  of  poet- 
ical beauty,  or  reflection  and  thought,  nor  should  it  want  the  advan- 
tages of  rhyme.  The  Faustus  of  Goethe  seems  to  be  the  best 
specimen  of  the  kind  of  plan  fit  for  a  poem  of  this  kind  not  meant  to 
be  acted. 

Odoherty.  Pindarum  quisquis. 

Editor.  Byron's  Manfred  is  certainly  but  an  Icarian  flutter  in  com- 
parison ;  his  Sardanapalus  is  better  composed,  and  more  original. 

Odoherty.  How  do  you  like  Nimrod  and  Semiramis  *? 

Editor.  That  dream  is  a  very  frightful  one,  and  I  admire  the 
conception  of  Nimrod.* 

Odoherty.  You  know  that  I  am  not  subject  to  nocturnal  terrors, 
even  after  the  heaviest  supper ;  but  I  acknowledge  that  the  ancestors 
of  Sardanapalus  almost  made  my  hair  stand  on  end ;  and  I  have 
some  intention  of  introducing  the  ghost  of  Fingal  in  my  "  Black 
Revenge."  The  superstitious  vein  has  not  lately  been  waked  with 
much  success.  I  slight  the  conception  of  Noma  in  relation  to  fear. 
The  scorpion  lash,  which  Mr.  David  Lindsay  applied  to  the  tyrant 
Firaoun,  is  not  at  all  formidable  to  the  reader,  but  there  is  solemnity 
and  sentiment  in  the  conception  of  the  people  being  called  away  one 
by  one  from  the  festival,  till  he  is  left  alone.  That  same  piece  of  the 
Deluge  would  be  very  good,  if  it  were  not  sometimes  like  music, 
which  aims  rather  at  loudness  than  harmony  or  expression.  The 
most  elegant  and  well  composed  piece  in  Lindsay's  book  is  the 
Destiny  of  Cain. 

Editor.  How  do  you  like  the  Nereides  love  1 

Odoherty.  It  is  vastly  pretty,  but  too  profuse  in  images  drawn 
from  mythology.  However,  there  are  many  fables  of  the  ancients  on 
which  poems  might  be  successfully  made  even  in  modern  times,  and 
according  to  modern  feeling,  if  the  meaning  of  the  fables  were  deeply 
enough  studied.  It  does  not  necessarily  follow  that  all  mythological 
poems  should  be  written  in  imitation  of  the  manner  of  the  ancients, 
and  much  less  in  the  pretty  style  of  Ovid,  and  those  moderns  who 
have  adopted  the  same  taste. 

Odoherty.  You  do  not  think  Mr.  Lindsay's  Nereid  French? 

Editor.  By  no  means.     It  is  free  from  any  fault  of  that  kind.     In 

"  the  late  remorse  of  love,")  that  modern  playwrights  have  written.     This  is  the  hero's  parting 
with  his  "gentle,  wronged  Zarina." — M. 
*  The  description  of  Nimrod  is  a  picture  : 

"  The  features  were  a  giant's,  and  the  eye 

Was  still,  yet  lighted ;  his  long  locks  curl'd  down 
On  his  vast  bust,  whence  a  huge  quiver  rose. 
With  shaft-heads  feather'd  from  the  eagle's  wing, 
That  peep'd  up  bristling  thro'  his  serpent  hair. — M. 


1819.] 


"the  irishman!" 


153 


some  of  Wordsworth's  later  poems,  there  appears  something,  like  a 
reviving  imagination  for  those  fine  old  conceptions,  which  have  been 
and  always  will  be. 

An  age  hath  been,  when  earth  was  proud, 
Of  lustre  too  intense 

To  be  sustain'd :  and  mortals  bow'd 
The  front  in  self-defence. 

Who,  then,  if  Dian's  oi'eseent  gleam'd, 

Or  Cupid's  sparkling  arrow  stream'd, 

While  on  the  wing  the  urchin  play'd. 

Could  fearlessly  approach  the  shade  ? 

Enough  for  one  soft  vernal  day, 

If  I,  a  bard  of  ebbing  time, 

And  nurtur'd  in  a  fickle  clime, 

May  haunt  this  horned  bay ; 

Whose  am'rous  water  multiplies 

The  flitting  halcyon's  vivid  dyes, 

And  smooths  its  liquid  breast  to  show 

These  swan-like  specks  of  mountain  snow, 

White,  as  the  pair  that  slid  along  the  plains 

Of  heaven,  while  Venus  held  the  reins. 

Odoherty.  Beautifully  recited ;  and  now  touch  the  bell  again,  for 
we're  getting  prosy. 

Editor.  Positively  Ensign,  we  must  rise. 

•  Odoherty.  Having  now  relinquished   the  army,  I  rise  by  sitting 
still,  and  applying  either  to  study,  or will  you  ring  1 

Editor.  "Tis  time  to  be  going,  I  believe.  I  see  the  daylight  peep- 
ing down  the  chimney.  But  sing  one  good  song  more,  Odoherty, 
and  so  wind  up  the  evening. 

Odoherty.  (Sings.) 

Aria — With  boisterous  expression. 


^5— N 


-b^— h 


:«: 


,-»- 


There  was  a     la  -  dy  lived  at  Leith,  a     la  -  dy  ve  -  ry  sty-lish,  man,  And 


l2=^=^=?t 


=t=^t:: 


2EEE 


-e— e 


{t±t 


±^: 


yet,     in  spite  of    all    her  teeth,  she  fell    in    love  with  an  I    -    rish-man,  A 


Chorus— Christopher  ! 


nas  -  ty,     ug  -  ly    I 


rish-man,  a    wild,  tre  -  men-dous  I  -    rishraan,  A 


tear  -  ing,  swearing,  thumping,  bumping,  ramping,  roaring    I    -  rishman. 
7# 


164  NOCTES  AMBROSIAN^.  [March, 

2. 

His  face  was  no  ways  beautiful, 

For  with  small-pox  'twas  scarr'd  across ; 
And  the  shoulders  of  the  ugly  dog 
Were  almost  doubled  a  yard  across. 
O,  the  lump  of  an  Irishman 
The  whisky-devouring  Irishman —   • 
The  great  he-rogue,  with  his  wonderful  brogue,  the  fighting,  rioting,  Irishman. 

3. 

One  of  his  eyes  was  bottle-green, 

And  the  other  eye  was  out,  my  dear ; 
And  the  calves  of  his  wicked-looking  legs 
Where  more  than  two  feet  about,  my  dear, 
O,  the  great  big  Irishman, 
The  rattling,  battling  Irishman — 
The  stamping,  ramping,  swaggering,  staggering,  leathering  swash  of  an  Irishman. 

4. 
He  took  so  much  of  Lundy-Foot, 

That  he  used  to  snort  and  snuffle — 0  ; 
And  in  shape  and  size,  the  fellow's  neck, 
Was  as  bad  as  the  neck  of  a  buffalo. 
O,  the  horrible  Irishman, 
The  thundering,  blundering  Irishman — 
The  slashing,  dashing,  smashing,  lashing,  thrashing,  hashing  Irishman. 

5. 
His  name  was  a  terrible  name,  indeed. 

Being  Timothy  Thady  Mulligan  ; 
And  whenever  he  emptied  his  tumbler  of  punch, 
He'd  not  rest  till  he  filled  it  full  again. 

The  booziog,  bruising  Irishman, 
The  'toxicated  Iiishman — 
The  whisky,  frisky,  rummy,  gummy,  brandy,  no  dandy  Irishman. 


This  was  the  lad  the  lady  loved. 

Like  all  the  girls  of  quality ; 
And  he  broke  the  skulls  of  the  men  of  Leith, 
Just  by  the  way  of  jollity. 

O,  the  leathering  Irishman, 
The  barbarous,  savage  Irishman — 
The  hearts  of  the  maids,  and  the  gentlemen's  heads,  were  bother'd, 
I'm  sure,  by  this  Irishman.* 

I  think  I  hear  the  rattles,  Christopher.     By  Saint  Patrick,  there's 
a  row  in  the  street !     Come  along,  old  one !     Up  with  your  crutch ! 

{Exeunt  Ambo.) 

*  This  song  was  written  by  Dr.  Maginn.— M. 


NO.  IL— APRIL,  1822. 

Scene. — The  little  wainscotted  room  behind — a  good  Jlre — a  table 
covered  with  books  and  papers^  decanters  and  glasses.  Time — Nine 
o'clock  in  the  evening : — a  high  wind  without. 

Present — Mr.  Christopher  North,  and  Mr.  Buller  of  Brasennose 
{seated  in  arm-chairs  at  the  opposite  sides  of  the  Jire-place.) 

Mr.  North.  So — Mr.  Buller,  you've  been  reading  Henry  Macken- 
zie's Life  of  John  Home.*  What  say  you  to  the  book?  I  am  sure 
your  chief  objection  is,  that  it  is  too  short  by  half. 

Mr.  Buller.  It  is ;  for,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  know  very  little 
about  the  characters  with  whom  Mr.  Mackenzie  seems  to  take  it  for 
granted  that  every  body  is  as  familiar  as  himself.  Do  you  remem- 
ber John  Home  1 

North.  Perfectly.  I  remember  going  out  to  his  farm-house,  in 
East  Lothian,  and  spending  two  delightful  days  with  him  there,  so 
far  back  as  the  year  seventy-seven.  I  was  then  a  very  stripling,  but 
I  can  recall  a  great  deal  of  what  he  said  quite  distinctly.  After  he 
came  to  live  in  Edinburgh,  I  was  not  much  in  Scotland ;  but  I  once 
called  upon  him,  and  drank  tea  with  him  here,  I  think  about  1807  or 
1808 — very  shortly  before  his  death.  He  was,  indeed,  a  fine  highly- 
finished  gentleman — and  bright  to  the  last. 

Buller.  What  sort  of  looking  man  was  he  1 

North.  A  fine,  thinking  face — extremely  handsome  he  had  been  in 
his  youth — a  dark-gray  eye,  full  of  thought,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
full  of  fire — his  hair  highly  curled  and  powdered — a  rich  robe-de- 
chambre — pale  green,  if  I  recollect,  like  one  John  Kemble  used  to 
wear — a  scarlet  waistcoat — a  very  striking  figure,  I  assure  you. 

Buller.  He  had  been  a  clergyman  in  his  early  life ! 

North.  Yes,  and,  you  know,  left  the  kirk  in  consequence  of  a 
foolish  outcry  they  were  making  about  his  Douglas.  I  remember 
him  sitting  in  their  General  Assembly,  however,  as  an  elder — and 
once  dressed  in  scarlet ;  for  he  had  a  commission  in  a  fencible  regi- 
ment. 

*  In  1822,  when  his  Life  of  John  Home  was  published,  Henry  Mackenzie  was  seventy-five 
years  old.  But  his  reminiscences  of  the  illustrious  men  whom  he  had  long  survived,  were 
vivid  to  the  last,  and  extremely  graphic.  When  he  died,  in  1831,  he  was  eighty-five  years 
old.— M. 


156  NOCTES   AMBEOSIAI^^.  [April, 

Buller.  Dr.  Adam  Fergusson,*  too,  was  in  the  church  at  first,  I 
think? 

North.  He  was — and  he  went  ont  chaplain  to  the  forty-second,  in 
the  Seven  Years'  War.  Colonel  David  Stewart  tells  a  fine  story  of 
his  heroism  at  the  battle  of  Fontenoy.  He  could  not  be  kept  back 
from  the  front  line. 

Buller.  'Ispsuf  jasv  aXXa  Map^^o^TT]^,  like  somebody  in  Homer.  The 
Scotch  literati  of  that  time  seem  to  have  been  a  noble  set  of  fellows. 
Good  God !  how  you  are  fallen  off! 

North.  We  may  thank  the  Whigs  for  that — transeat  cum  ceteris. 

Buller.  I  don't  exactly  understand  your  meaning.  Do  you  allude 
to  the  Edinburgh  Review'? 

North.  Certainly,  Mr.  Buller.  They  introduced  a  lower  tone  in 
every  thing.  In  the  first  place,  few  of  them  were  gentlemen  either 
by  birth  or  breeding — and  some  of  the  cleverest  of  them  have  always 
preserved  a  sort  of  plebeian  snappishness  which  is  mighty  disgusting. 
W^hat  would  David  Hume,  for  example,  have  thought  of  such  a  set 
of  superficial  chattering  bodies  1 

Buller.  David  Hume  appears  in  a  very  amiable  light  in  this 
volume.     He  was,  after  all,  a  most  worthy  man,  though  an  infidel. 

North.  He  was  a  man  of  the  truest  genius — the  truest  learning — 
and  the  truest  excellence.  His  nature  was  so  mild  that  he  could  do 
without  restraints,  the  want  of  which  would  have  ruined  the  charac- 
ter of  almost  any  other  man.  I  love  the  memory  of  David  Hume — 
the  first  historian  the  modern  world  has  produced — primus  absque 
secundo,  to  my  mind  !  His  account  of  the  different  sects  and  parties 
in  the  time  of  Charles  I.  is  worth  all  the  English  prose  that  has  been 
written  since.     At  least,  'tis  well  worth  half  of  it. 

Buller.  Why  are  not  his  letters  published  1  The  few  that  have 
been  printed  are  exquisite, — one  or  two  very  fine  specimens  in  this 
very  volume — and  what  a  beautiful  thing  is  that  notice  of  his  last 
journey  to  Bath  by  the  poetf — a  few  such  pages  are  worth  an  Ency- 
clopaedia. 

North.  What  a  sensation  was  produced  in  England  when  that  fine 
constellation  of  Scotch  genius  first  began  to  blaze  out  upon  the  world! 
You  thought  us  little  better  than  Hottentots  before. 

Buller.  And  yet  Dr.  Johnson  always  somehow  or  other  kept  the 
first  place  himself. 

North.  He  could  not,  or  would  not,  make  so  good  books  as  other 

*  The  Historian.     He  was  chaplain  of  the  42d  Highlanders,  in  Flanders,  until  the  peace  of  ■ 
Aix  la  Ghapelle,  and  actually  joined  in  the  charge  of  his  regiment  at  Fontejgioy.     Returning 
to  Edinburgh,  he  was  chosen  Professor  of  Natural  Philosophy,  but  afterwards  took  the  chair 
of  moral  philosophy.    His  chief  work  is  a  *•'  History  of  the  Roman  Republic."    He  died  in  1816, 
aged  ninety-two. — M. 

f  David  Hume's  interesting  correspondence  has  since  been  collected  and  published,  under 
the  editorship  of  J.  Hill  Burton,  of  Edinburgh.  He  stands  at  the  head  of  the  modern  philoso- 
phical skeptics,  and  his  History  of  England  is  the  most  permanent  proof  of  his  ability  and 
researches. — M. 


1822.]  JOHN  HOME.  157 

people,  but  God  knows  there  was  a  pith  about  old  Samuel  which 
nothing  could  stand  up  against.  His  influence  was  not  so  much  that 
of  an  author  as  of  a  thinker.  He  was  the  most  powerful  intellect  in 
the  world  of  books.  He  was  the  Jackson  of  the  literary  ring — the 
judge — the  emperor — a  giant — acknowledged  to  be  a  Saul  amongst 
the  people.  Even  David  Hume  would  have  been  like  a  woman  in 
his  grasp ;  but,  odd  enough,  the  two  never  met. 

Buller.  Your  Magazine  once  had  a  good  Essay  on  Johnson  and 
Warburton. 

North,  Yes  ;  I  wrote  it  myself.  But,  after  all;  Warburton  was 
not  Johnson's  match.*  He  had  more  flame  but  less  heat.  Johnsoil's 
mind  was  a  furnace — it  reduced  everything  to  its  elements.  We 
have  no  truly  great  critical  intellect  since  his  time. 

Buller.  What  would  he  have  thought  of  our  modern  reviewers  ? 

North.  Why,  not  one  of  the  tribe  would  have  dared  to  cry  mew 
had  he  been  alive.  The  terror  of  him  would  have  kept  them  as  mum 
as  mice  when  there's  a  cat  in  the  room.  If  he  had  detected  such  a 
thing  as  Jeffrey  astir,  he  would  have  cracked  every  bone  in  his  body 
with  one  worry. 

Buller.  I  can  believe  it  all.  Even  Giflbrd  would  have  been 
annihilated. 

North.  Like  an  ill-natured  pug-dog  flung  into  a  lion's  cage. 

Buller.  He  did  not  like  your  old  Scots  literati. 

North.  He  hated  the  name  of  Scotland,  and  would  not  condescend 
to  know  what  they  were.  .  Yet  he  must  have  admired  such  a  play  as 
Douglas.  The  chief  element  of  John  Home's  inspiration  seems  to 
have  been  a  sort  of  stately  elevation  of  sentiment,  which  must  have 
struck  some  congenial  chords  in  his  own  great  mind. 

Buller.  What  is  your  opinion  of  John  Home  as  a  poet "? 

North.  I  think  nobody  can  bestow  too  much  praise  on  Douglas. 
There  has  been  no  English  tragedy  worthy  of  the  name  since  it 
appeared. f  'Tis  a  noble  piece — beautifully  and  loftily  written  ;  but, 
after  all,  the  principal  merit  is  in  the  charming  old  story  itself. 
Douglas  is  the  only  true  forerunner  of  the  Scotch  imaginative  litera- 
ture of  our  own  age.  Home's  other  tragedies  are  all  very  indifferent 
— most  of  them  quite  bad.*  Mr.  Mackenzie  should  not  have  disturbed 
their  slumbers. 

Buller.     The  natural  partiality  of  friendship  and  affection — 

North.  Surely  ;  and  it  is  most  delightful  to  read  his  Memoir, 
simply  for  its  overflowing  with  that  fine  strain  of  sentiments.  He  is 
like  Ossian,  "  the  last  of  all  his  race,"  and  talks  of  his  peers  as  they 

*  Dr.  Warburton,  Bishop  of  Gloucester,  was  more  highly  praised  by  Johnson,  (in  his  Life  of 
Pope),  than  he  really  deserved.  He  knew  a  great  deal,  but  knew  few  things  so  as  to  master 
them.     As  an  author  he  was  diffuse,  coarse,  and  dogmatical. — M. 

t  This  is  one  of  the  instances  where  North's  judgment  was  clouded  by  his  nationality.  The 
tragedy  of  Douglas  by  no  means  merits  the  high  praise  here  given  to  it. — M. 


158  N0CTE8   AMBROSIAN.E.  [April, 

should  be  talked  of.  One  may  differ  from  his  opinions  here  and 
there,  but  there  is  a  halo  over  the  whole  surface  of  his  language. 
'Tis  to  me  a  very  pathetic  work. 

Buller.  Mackenzie  is  himself  a  very  great  author. 

North.  A  discovery  indeed,  Mr.  Buller  !  Henry  Mackenzie,  sir, 
is  one  of  the  most  original  in  thought,  and  splendid  in  fancy,  and 
chaste  in  expression,  that  can  be  found  in  the  whole  line  of  our 
worthies.     He  will  live  as  long  as  our  tongue,  or  longer. 

Buller.  Which  of  his  works  do  you  like  best  ? 

North.  Julia  de  Roubigne  and  the  story  of  La  Roche.  I  thought 
that  vein  had  been  extinct,  till  Adam  Blair  came  out.  But  Nature 
in  none  of  her  domains  can  ever  be  exhausted. 

Buller.  But  an  author's  invention  may  be  exhausted,  I  suppose. 

North.  Not  easily.  You  might  as  well  talk  of  exhausting  the 
Nile  as  a  true  genius.  People  talk  of  wearing  out  a  man's  intel- 
lectual power,  as  if  it  were  a  certain  determinate  sum  of  cash  in  a 
strong  box.  'Tis  more  like  the  income  of  a  princely  estate — which, 
with  good  management,  must  always  be  improving,  not  falling  off.  A 
great  author's  power  of  acquisition  is  in  the  same  ratio  with  his  power 
of  displaying.  He  who  can  write  well  might  be  able  to  see  well — and 
his  eyes  will  feed  his  fancy  as  long  as  his  fingers  can  hold  the  pen. 

Buller.  At  that  rate  we  shall  have  three  or  four  more  new 
Waverley  romances  every  year  1 

North.  I  hope  so.  There's  old  Goethe  has  written  one  of  the  best 
romances  he  ever  did,  within  the  last  twelve  months — a  most  splendid 
continuation  of  his  Wilhelm  Meister. — and  Goethe  was  born,  I  think, 
in  the  year  1742.  I  wish  Mackenzie,  who  is  a  good  ten  years  his 
junior,  would  follow  the  example.* 

Buller.  Voltaire  held  on  wonderfully  to  the  last,  too. 

North.  Ay,  there  was  another  true  creature  !  Heavens  !  what  a 
genius  was  Voltaire's !  So  grave,  so  gay,  so  profound,  so  brilliant — 
his  name  is  worth  all  the  rest  in  the  French  literature. 

Buller.  Always  excepting  my  dear  Rabelais. 

North.  A  glorious  old  fellow,  to  be  sure !  Once  get  into  his 
stream,  and  try  if  you  can  land  again !  He  is  the  only  man  whose 
mirth  exerts  the  sway  of  uncontrollable  vehemence.  His  comic  is  as 
strong  as  the  tragic  of  ^schylus  himself. 

Buller.  We  are  Pygmies  ! 

North.  More's  the  pity.  Yet  we  have  our  demi-gods  too.  In 
manners  anr'  in  dignity  we  are  behind  the  last  age — but  in  genius, 
properly  so  called,  we  are  a  thousand  miles  above  it.  They  had 
little  or  no  poetry  then.  Such  a  play  even  as  Douglas  would,  if 
published  now-a-days,  appear  rather  feeble.     It  would  be  better  as  a 

*  Instead  of  Mackenzie's  being  ten  years  younger  than  Goethe,  he  was  four  years'  older. 
Mackenzie  was  born  in  1745,  Goethe  in  1749. — M. 


1822]  MODERN   STATESMEN.  159 

-play  certainly — but  the  poetry  of  Byron,  Scott,  and  Wordsworth, 
would  be  in  men's  minds,  and  they  would  not  take  that  for  poetry, 
fine  though  it  be. 

Buller.  What  would  people  say  to  one  of  Shakspeare's  plays,  were 
it  to  be  written  now  1 

North.  The  Edinburgh  Reviewers  would  say  it  was  a  Lakish 
Rant.  The  Quarterly  would  tear  it  to  bits,  growling  like  a  mastiff. 
The  fact  is,  that  our  theatre  is  at  an  end,  I  fear.  A  new  play,  to  be 
received  triumphantly,  would  require  to  have  all  the  fire  and  passion 
of  the  old  drama,  and  all  the  chasteness  and  order  of  the  new.  I  doubt 
to  reconcile  these  two  will  pass  the  power  of  any  body  now  living. 

Buller.  Try  yourself,  man. 

North.  I  never  will — but  if  I  did,  I  should  make  something 
altogether  unlike  anything  that  has  ever  been  done  in  our  language. 
Unless  I  could  hit  upon  some  new — really  new — key,  I  should  not 
think  the  attempt  worth  making.  Even  our  dramatic  verse  is  quite 
worn  out.     It  would  pall  on  one's  ear  were  it  written  never  so  well. 

Buller.  Why  1  Sophocles  wrote  the  same  metre  with  JEschylus. 

North.  No  more  than  Shakspeare  wrote  the  same  blank  verse 
with  Milton — or  Byron,  in  the  Corsair,  the  same  measure  with  the 
Rape  of  the  Lock.  Counting  the  longs  and  shorts  is  not  enough,  Mr. 
Bachelor  of  Arts. 

Buller.  You  despise  our  English  study  of  the  classics.  You  think 
it  carried  too  far.     I  understand  your  meaning,  Mr.  North. 

North.  I  doubt  that.  I  suspect  that  I  myself  have  read  as  much 
Greek  in  my  day  as  most  of  your  crack-men.  In  my  younger  days, 
sir,  the  glory  of  our  Buchanans  and  Barclays*  was  not  forgotten  in 
Scotland.  In  this  matter  again,  we  have  to  thank  the  blue  and 
yellow t  gentry  for  a  good  deal  of  our  national  deterioration. 

Buller.  They  are  not  scholars. 

North.  They  scholars  !  witlings  can't  be  scholars,  Buller.  Know- 
ledge is  a  great  calmer  of  people's  minds.  Milton  would  have  been 
a  compassionate  critic. 

Buller.  Are  you  a  compassionate  one  1 

North.  Sir,  I  am  ever  compassionate,  when  I  see  anything  like 
nature  and  originality.  I  do  not  demand  the  strength  of  a  Hercules 
from  every  man.  Let  me  have  an  humble  love  of,  and  a  sincere 
aspiration  after  what  is  great,  and  I  am  satisfied.  I  am  intolerant  to 
nobody  but  Quacks  and  Cockneys. 

*  There  are  five  Barclays,  whose  names  are  recorded : — Alexander  Barclay,  translator  of  the 
"Navis  Stultifera.,"  or  Ship  of  Fools,  died  1532  ;  Robert  Barclay,  author  of  "An  Apology  for 
the  Quakers,"  died  1690 ;  William  Barclay,  Professor  of  Law  at  Angers,  in  France,  and  a  great 
civilian,  died  1605  ;  John  Barclay,  his  son,  author  of  "  Euphoronium,"  a  Latin  Satire,  and 
,"  Aryenis,"  a  romance,  died  1621  ;  and  John  Barclay,  of  Cruden,  who  wrote  a  rare  and  curious 
work  in  verse,  now  very  scarce,  called  "  A  Description  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church. — M. 

t  "  The  blue  and  yellow"  was  the  Edinburgh  Review,  published  with  a  cover  of  blue  and 
yellow  paper. — M. 


160  NOCTES   AMBKOSIAN^.  [April, 

B idler.  Whom  you  crucify,  like  a  very  Czar  of  Muscovy  ! 

North.  No,  sir,  I  only  hang  them  up  to  air,  like  so  many  pieces 
of  old  theatrical  finery  on  the  poles  of  Monmouth-street. 

Buller.  But  to  return  to  John  Home  and  Henry  Mackenzie — I 
confess,  I  think  the  History  of  the  Rebellion  in  1745  is  a  far  better 
work  than  it  is  generally  held  to  be. 

North.  Why  any  account  of  that  brilliant  episode  in  our  history 
must  needs  be  full  of  interest,  and  Hume  being  concerned  so  far 
himself,  has  preserved  a  number  of  picturesque  enough  anecdotes ; 
but  on  the  whole,  the  book  wants  vigor,  and  it  is  full  of  quizzibles  ; 
what  can  be  more  absurd  than  his  giving  us  more  pages  about  the 
escape  of  two  or  three  Whig  students  of  Divinity  from  the  Castle  of 
Doune  than  he  spends  upon  all  the  wild  wandering  of  the  unfortunate 
Chevalier  1 

Buller.  The  young  Pretender. 

North.  The  Chevalier — the  Prince,  sir.  My  father  would  have 
knocked  any  man  down  that  said  the  Pretender  in  his  presence. 

Buller.  Ask  your  pardon,  Christopher.  I  did  not  know  you  were 
a  Jacobite. 

North.  Had  I  lived  in  those  days  I  should  certainly  have  been 
one.  Look  at  Horace  Walpole's  Memoirs,  if  you  wish  to  see  what 
a  paltry  set  of  fellows,  steered  the  vessel  of  the  State  in  the  early 
Hanover  reigns.  It  is  refreshing  to  turn  from  your  Bedfords,  and 
Newcasties,  and  Cavendishes,  to  the  Statesmen  of  our  own  times. 

Buller.  Wait  for  fifty  years  till  some  such  legacy  of  spleen  be 
opened  by  the  heirs  of  some  disappointed  statesman  now  living. 

North.  There  is  something  in  that,  sir ;  but  yet  not  much.  Sir, 
nobody  will  ever  be  able  to  bring  any  disgraceful  accusations  against 
the  personal  honor  and  probity  of  the  leading  Tory  statesmen  who 
now  rule  in  England.  They  are  all  men  of  worth  and  principle. 
They  have  their  faults,  I  believe,  but  no  shameful  ones. 

Buller.  Whom  do  you  place  highesf? 

North.  Lord  Londonderry  without  question.  He  wants  some  of. 
the  lesser  ornaments  which  set  off  a  public  man — I  mean  in  his  style 
of  speaking* — but  sense,  sir,  and  knowledge,  and  thorough  skill  in 
affairs,  are  worth  all  the  rest  a  million  times  over ;  and  he  has  some- 
thing iDcsides  all  these,  that  distinguishes  him  from  every  body  with 
whom  he  can  at  present  be  compared — a  true  active  dignity  and  pith 
of  mind — the  chief  element  of  a  ruling  character,  and  worth  all  the 
eloquence  even  of  a  Burke. 

Buller.  His  fine  person  is  an  advantage  to  him. 

*  He  -A"as  so. deficient  as  a  speaker,  confused  in  ideas,  and  unable  to  put  thena,  properly,  into 
sentences,  that  Byron  said  he  was  an  orator  framed  in  the  fashion  of  iSJrs.  Malaprop.  Inaction 
he  was  bold  and  decisive,  in  manners  gentle  and  courtly.  He  committed  suicide  in  August, 
1822,  while  George  IV.  was  in  Scotland. — M. 


1822.]  JOSEPH  HUME.  .161 

North.  The  grace  of  the  Seymours  would  be  an  advantage  to 
any  man.  But  just  look  at  the  two  sets  of  people  the  next  time  you 
are  in  the  House  of  Commons,  and  observe  what  a  raffish-looking 
crew  the  modern  Whigs  are.  I'm  sure  their  benches  must  have  a 
great  loss  in  the  absence  of  George  Tierney's  bluff  face  and  buff 
waistcoat.* 

Buller.  What  manner  of  man  is  Joseph  Hume? 

North.  Did  you  never  see  him  ?  He  is  a  shrewd-looking  fellow 
enough :  but  most  decidedly  vulgar.  Nobody  that  sees  him  could 
ever  for  a  moment  suspect  him  of  being  a  gentleman  born.f  He  has 
the  air  of  a  Montrose  dandy,  at  this  moment,  and  there  is  an  intoler- 
able affectation  about  the  creature.  I  suppose  he  must  have  sunk 
quite  into  the  dirt  since  Croker  curried  him. 

Buller.  I  don't  believe  anything  can  make  an  impression  on  him. 
A  gentleman's  whip  would  not  be  felt  through  the  beaver  of  a  coal- 
heaver.     Depend  on't,  Joseph  will  go  on  just  as  he  has  been  doing. 

North.  Why,  a  small  matter  will  make  a  man  who  has  once 
ratted,  rat  again.-  We  all  remember  what  Joe  Hume  was  a  few 
years  ago. 

Buller.  A  Tory  1  ■ 

North.  I  would  not  prostitute  the  name  so  far ;  but  he  always 
voted  with  them. I     As  a  clever  poet  of  last  year  said — ■ 

"  I  grant  you  he  never  behaved,  anno  12,  ill — 
He  always  used  then  to  chime  in  with  Lord  Melville. 
There  were  words,  I  remember,  he  used  to  pronounce  ill ; 
But  he  always  supported  the  Orders  in  Council. 
At  the  Whigs  it  was  then  his  chief  pleasure  to  rail — 
He  opposed  all  the  Catholic  claims,  tooth  and  nail ; 
Nay,  he  carried  his  zeal  to  so  great  an  excess, 
That  he  voted  against  Stewart  Wortley's  address ; 
And  while  others  were  anxious  for  bringing  in  Canning — 
His  principal  point  seemed  to  be  to  keep  Van  in."* 

Buller.  What  a  memory  you  have  !  Joseph  has  not  so  good  a 
one,  I'll  swear,  or  he  would  not  look  the  Tories  hi  the  face  after  such 
a  ratting ! 

North.  Why,  no  wonder  then  he  hates  the  Tories.     They  never 

*  Tierney,  who  had  been  a  sort  of  Parliamentary  leader  of  the  Whigs,  was  not  in  Parliament 
in  1822.  In  1827,  Canning  made  him  Master  of  the  Mint,  which  he  resigned,  early  in  1828, 
(when  Lord  Goderich  retired  from  the  Premiership),  and  died  in  1830.  In  the  bluff  face,  and  buff 
waistcoat,  and  I  might  add  the  blufi  manner  in  which  he  spoke,  an  imitation  of  Fox  was 
palpable. — M. 

t  Nor  was  he.  Hume's  mother  kept  a  small  stand,  on  market-days,  in  Montrose,  and  Fox 
Maule  (afterwards  Lord  Panmure),  was  seized  with  a  whim  of  apprenticing  him  to  a  drugo-jst, 
which  led  to  his  becoming  a  surgeon  in  the  East  Indies,  where  he  made  a  fortune. — M. 

X  Hume,  originally  entered  Parliament,  from  January  to  November,  1812,  as  a  Tory  member, 
for  the  Borough  Weymouth.  In  IdlS,  when  he  returned  to  the  House  of  Commons,  it  was  as 
a  Radical  member  for  Montrose. — M. 

II  See  Letter  to  a  Friend  in  the  Country.  London,  Triphook.  1821. — C.N.  ["  Van"  meant 
Mr.  Vansittart,  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer,  afterwards  Lord  Bexley.]— iW. 


162  NOCTES  AMBEOSIAN^.  [April, 

thought  of  him  while  he  was  with  them — and  now  the  Whigs  do  talk 
of  Joe  as  if  he  were  somebody.     But  as  John  Bull  says — 

"  A  very  small  man  with  the  Tories 
Is  a  very  great  man  'mong  the  Whigs !" 

Buller.  If  you  were  to  rat,  North,  what  a  rumpus  they  would 
make  about  you !  Why,  they  would  lift  you  on  their  shoulders,  and 
huzza  till  you  were  tired. 

North.  That  would  not  be  long.     Away  with  stinking  breath,  say  I. 

Buller.  At  first  they  pretended  to  say  you  were  dull.  But  that 
was  soon  over.  Jeffrey  persuaded  them  that  would  never  pass,  I  am 
told. 

North.  I  can  believe  it.     Jeffrey  is  a  king  among  the  blind. 

Buller.  I  suppose  he  hates  you  cordially,  however. 

North.  No  doubt,  in  a  small  toothy  way :  just  as  a  rat  hates  a 
terrier.  But  what  makes  you  always  speak  about  him  1  I'm  sure 
you  don't  mind  such  folks. 

Buller.  Not  much ;  but,  next  to  abusing  one's  friends,  what,  after 
all,  is  so  pleasant  as  abusing  one's  enemies  1 

North.  Try  praising  them,  my  friend :  You'll  find  that  embitters 
them  far  more  fiercely.  There's  an  air  of  superiority  about  com- 
mendation which  makes  a  man  wince  to  his  backbone.  The  Whigs 
can't  endure  to  be  lauded. 

Buller.  That's  the  reason  you  always  lash  them,  I  presume. 

North.  Me  lash  them !  I  would  as  soon  get  on  horseback  to  spear 
a  tailor.  I  just  tickle  their  noses  with  the  tip  of  my  thong.  Put  me 
into  a  passion,  and  I'll  show  you  what  lashing  is. 

Buller.  I  have  no  curiosity,  Christopher.  I'll  take  it  all  upon 
trust.  When  you  cock  your  wig  awry,  you  look  as  if  you  could  eat 
a  Turk. 

North.  I  would  rather  eat  any  thing  than  a  Whig.  When  you 
cut  them  up,  'tis  all  stuffing,  and  skin  and  gall. 

Buller.  They  cry  each  other  up  at  a  fine  rate. 

North,  Why,  I  believe  there  is  but  one  animal  who  may,  in  a 
certain  sense,  commit  all  crimes  with  impunity,  and  its  name  is 
Whig.  To  have  been  detected  in  the  basest  embezzlement  of  money 
would  not  hinder  one  of  them  from  being  talked  of  as  the  light  of  the 
age.  I  suppose  the  next  thing  will  be  to  have  some  habit  and  repute 
thief  or  housebreaker  proposing  a  reformation  of  the  criminal  code. 
A  Whig  is  never  cut  by  the  Whigs.  Fox  and  Tom  Erskine  stuck 
by  Arthur  O'Connor  to  the  last,  and  swore  that  they  believed  him  to 
have  the  same  political  principles  as  themselves.*  I  suppose,  in 
spite  of  his  behavior  to  Mackerrel,  Brougham  could  get  a  certificate ! 
Even  Bennet  is  something  with  them  still ! 

*  O'Connor  was  tried  for  high  treason. — M. 


1822.]  Mitchell's  AKiSTOPHA]srES.  163 

Buller.  Not  much.  'Tis  a  fine  thing  to  be  Whig,  however.  How 
the  Chaldee  would  have  been  praised  had  it  been  written  against  the 
Tories ! 

North.  Why  the  English  Tories  would  have  laughed  at  it,  and 
the  Scotch  Tories  would  have  joined  trembling  with  their  mirth — and 
Jamie  Hogg  would  have  been  dinnered  to  his  deathj  poor  fellow. 

Buller.  I  have  a  sort  of  lurking  hereditary  respect  for  the  name 
of  Whig.     I  can't  bear  its  having  come  to  designate  such  people. 

North.  What  stuff  is  this?  You  might  as  well  wax  wroth  because 
a  cicerone  is  not  the  same  thing  with  a  Cicero,  nor  a  bravo  the  same 
thing  with  a  brave  man. 

Buller.  Why  is  it  that  the  Whigs  attack  you  so  much  more  bit- 
terly than  they  do  Gifford'? 

North.  Why,  Mr.  Buller,  the  crow  always  darts  first  at  the  eye. 

Buller.  Their  attacks  on  you  are  as  zealous  as  their  laudations  of 
themselves. 

North.  And  as  ineffectual. 

"  Talk  and  spare  not  for  speech,  and  at  last  you  "will  reach, 
And  the  proverb  hold  good,  I  opine,  sirs, 
In  spite  of  ablution,  scent  and  perfume,  pollution 
Show'd  still  that  the  sow  was  a  swine,  sirs." 

Buller.  What  is  that  you  are  quoting  now '? 

North.  Aristophanes — Mitchell,  I  mean.*  I  think  the  verses  are 
in  his  version  of  The  Wasps. 

•  Buller.  I  have  not  seen  his  new  volume  yet.     Is  it  as  good  as  the 
first '? 

North.  I  don't  know.  The  dissertations  on  the  first  volume  were 
the  most  popular  things  in  it,  and  there  are  no  dissertations  in  this ; 
but,  'tis  full  of  capital  notes,  and  the  translation  is  quite  in  the  same 
spirited  style.  Nothing  can  be  more  true,  I  imagine.  I  am  quite 
sure  nothing  can  be  more  spirited  or  more  graceful. 

Buller.  That's  high  praise  from  a  Cynic  like  you,  Mr.  Christopher. 
I  suppose  'tis  the  first  thing  of  the  sort  in  our  language,  however. 

North.  Oh !  most  certainly  it  is  so.  None  of  the  ancient  drama- 
tists have  ever  had  anything  like  justice  done  them  before.  There  is 
so  much  poetry  in  some  of  the  passages  in  this  last  volume,  that  I 
can't  but  wish  Mitchell  would  take  some  of  the  tragedians  in-  hand 
next.  What  a  name  might  he  not  make  if  he  could  master  iEschylus 
as  well  as  he  has  done  Aristophanes  1  or  perhaps  some  of  Euripides' 
plays  would  fall  more  easily  into  his  management.  I  wish  he  would 
try  the  Bacchas  or  the  Cyclops. 

*  Thomas  Mitchell's  chief  title  to  fame  rests  upon  his  admirable  translation  into  English 
verse,  of  the  Plays  of  Aristophanes.  He  was  a  good  philologist ;  wrote  several  papers  in  the 
Quarterly  Review,  on  subjects  connected  with  Greek  manners  and  literature  ;  and  edited  a  few 
of  the  classical  works  printed  at  the  Clarendon  press,  Oxford.    He  died  in  1845,  aged  sixty-two. 


164  NOCTES   AMBROSIAN^.  [April, 

BuUer.  Spout  a  little  piece  more  of  him,  if  you  can. 

North.  I  will  give  you  part  of  a  passage  that  I  consider  nobody 
has  so  good  a  righ.t  to  quote  as  myself;  for  I  am  the  true  represent- 
ative of  the  Vetus  Comcedia — 

"  "When  th.o  swell  of  private  rage  foam'd  indignant,  that  The  Stage 

Dared  upbraid'  lawless  love  and  affection, 
And  will'd  our  poet's  speech,  (guilty  pleasures  not  to  reach) 

Should  assume  a  more  lowly  direction : — 
Did  he  heed  the  loud  reproof?     No — he  wisely  kept  aloof, 

And  spurn'd  at  corruption's  base  duress ; 
For  never  could  he  choose,  to  behold  his  dearest  Muse, 

In  the  dress  of  a  wanton  procuress."- 

Buller.  Why,  this  certainly  looks  as  if  it  had  been  written  since 
Rimini  and  Juan. 

North.  Listen,  man — 

"  "When  first  the  scenic  trade  of  instruction  he  essay'd, 

Monsters,  not  men,  were  his  game,  sirs; 
Strange  Leviathans,  that  ask'd  strength  and  mettle,  and  had  task'd 

Alcides,  their  fury  to  tame,  sirs !" 

Buller.  The  Shepherd  of  Chaldea  may  hold  up  his  head  now,  I  think. 
North.  Hush — 

"  In  peril  and  alarms  was  his  'prenticeship  of  arms, 

W  ith  a  SHARK  fight  and  battle  essaying, 
From  whose  eyes  stream'd  baleful  light,  like  the  blazing  balls  of  sight 

"Which  in  Cynna's  {query,  Jeffrey's?)  fierce  face  are  seen  playing. 
Swathed  and  banded  round  his  head,  five-score  sycophants  were  fed — 

Ever  slav'ring,  and  licking,  and  glueing,  {young  Whigs  to  he  sure,) 
"While  his  voice  scream'd  loud  and  hoarse,  like  the  torrent's  angry  course, 

"When  death  and  destruction  are  brewing. 
Eude  the  portent,  fierce  and  fell,  did  its  sight  the  poet  quell, 

"Was  he  seen  to  a  truce  basely  stooping  ? 
No ;  his  blows  still  fell  unsparing  that  and  next  year,  when  came  warring 

"With  foes  of  a  different  trooping." 

Buller.  No  !  nobody  can  say  that  of  you,  Christopher. 

North.  There's  another  passage — a  semi-chorus  of  Wasps^  which  I 
must  give  you.  It  seems  as  if  I  heard  a  certain  "  clever  old  body  " 
singing  in  the  midst  of  all  his  disjecta  membra. 

"  O  the  days  that  are  gone  by,  0  the  days  so  blithe  and  bland. 
When  my  foot  was  strong  in  dance,  and  the  spear  was  in  my  hand, 
Then  my  limbs  and  years  were  green,  I  could  toil  and  yet  to  spare, 
And  the  foemau,  to  his  cost,  knew  what  strength  and  mettle  are. 
O  the  days  that  are  gone  by,  &c. 

Enter  Mr.  Ambrose. 
Mr.  Ambrose.  Mr.  Tickler !  \^E)iier  Mr.  Tickler. 

Tickler.  Ha!  Buller,  my  dear  boy — may  you  live  a  thousand 

years. 


1822.]  WORDSWOKTH   AOT)   DETDEN.  165 

Buller.  Allow  me  to  congratulate  you  on  your  marriage.  I  trust 
Mrs.  Tickler  is  tolerably  well — not  complaining  very  much  ? 

Tickler.  No  bantering,  you  dog — I  might  marry  without  losing 
any  good  fellowship,  which  is  more  than  you  can  say,  Mr.  Brazen-, 
nose.  Why  the  devil  don't  you  all  marry  at  Oxford  1  What  could 
be  more  interesting  than  to  see  Christ  Church  Walk  swarming  with 
the  wives,  children,  and  nurses  of  senior  fellows  1 

Buller.  Spare  us,  Tickler,  Spare  us.  What  are  you  about  1  Not 
a  single  article  of  yours  has  gladdened  England  for  a  twelvenionth. 

Tickler.  I  am  engaged  on  the  Pope  Controversy.*  My  work  will 
embrace  three  quarto  volumes.  I  begin  with  pointing  out  the  differ- 
ence between  nature  and  art,  which  has  been  often  written  about,  but 
never  understood.     Do  you  know  the  difference  1 

Buller.  No  ! — confound  me  if  I  do. 

Tickler.  Take  an  illustration.  Mr.  Bowles  walking  to  church  in  a 
suit  of  black — with  a  gown,  bands,  and  shovel  hat — is  an  artificial 
object,  though  he  may  not  think  so ;  and  therefore,  according  to  his 
own  principles,  an  unfit  theme  for  the  highest  species  of  poetical 
composition.  So  is  Mr.  Bowles  in  his  night-shirt  and  night-cap — but 
Mr.  Bowles  going  in  to  bathe  in  puris  nafuralibus,  is  artificial  no  more 
— he  is  a  natural — and,  as  such,  a  fit  subject  for  the  loftiest  song. 

North.  Very  well,  Tickler — but  I  love  and  respect  Bowles. 

Tickler.  Very  well,  North — but  I  lov-e  and  respect  Pope.-  And 
of  all  the  abject  and  despicable  drivelling,  ever  drivelled  by  clerk  or 
layman,  is  all  that  late  drivelling  about  the  eternal  principles  of 
poetry,  and  the  genius  of  the  Bard  of  Twickenham.  Why,  there  is 
more  passion  in  that  one  single  line  of  Eloisa  to  Abelard,  "  Give  all 
thou  can'st,  and  let  me. dream  the  rest,"  than  in  all  the  verses  Mr. 
Bowles  ever  wrote  in  his  life,  or  Mr.  Campbell  either. 

Buller.  Wordsworth  says  Dryden's  Ode  is  low,  and  vulgar,  and 
stupid. 

Tickler.  ■  Wordsworth  is  an  ass — that  is,  as  great  an  ass  as  Dryden. 
Pray,  is  his  poem  of  Alice  Fell  worth  a  bad  farthing  %  Only  think 
of  the  author  of  the  Lyrical  Ballads  sitting  by  himself  in  a  post-chaise, 
driving  like  the  very  devil  into  Durham.  No  poet  ought  to  have 
made  such  a  confession.  Besides,  it  is  well-known  that  it  was'  a 
re^i/r/i-chaise,  and  I  question  if  the  post-boy  "who  drove  in  fierce 
career,"  (such  are  the  Bard's  absurd  words)  gave  his  master  the  coin. 
I  shrewdly  suspect  he  fobbed  it.  •' 

North.  Stop,  Tickler — you  are  becoming  personal.  I  discounte- 
nance all  personalities,  either  here  or  elsewhere. 

Tickler.  I  beg  your  and  Mr.  Wordsworth's  pardon.     I  mean  no 

*  The  Pope  Controversy,  (as  it  was  called)  was  carried  on  by  Bowles.  Campbell,  Byron,  Dr. 
Gilchrist,  Roscoe,  and  three  or  four  minor  writers.  The 'dispute  ramified  into  a  variety  of  sub- 
jects, but  the  main  question  was — Was  Pope  a  Foet? — M. 


166  NOCTES   AMBEOSIAN^.  [April, 

disrespect  to  that  gentleman — but  as  long  as  my  name  is  Tickler,  he 
shall  not  abuse  Dry  den  without-  getting  abused  himself. 

North.  Why,  Tickler — many  of  the  poets  of  our  days  are,  with  all 
their  genius,  a  set  of  enormous  Spoons.  Wordsworth  walks  about 
the  woods  like  a  great  satyr,  or  rather  like  the  god  Pan ;  arid  piping 
away  upon  his  reed,  sometimes  most  infernally  out  of  tune,  he  thinks 
he  is  listening,  at  the  very  least,  to  music  equal  to  that  of  the  spheres, 
and  that  nobody  can  blow  a  note  but  himself. 

Buller.  Ay,  ay,  Mr.  North — there  is  Satan  reproving  sin,  as  you 
presbyters  are  wont  to  say.  Believe  me,  you  have  never  yet  done 
Southey  justice  in  your  work.  He  is  a  splendid  genius.  His  mind 
has  a  high  tone.     Southey,  sir,  is  one  of  the  giants. 

Tickler.  Why,  the  Whigs,  and  Radicals,  and  Reformers,  abuse  Mr. 
Southey,  I  observe,  because,  when  an  enthusiastic  youth,  soon  after 
the  French  Revolution,  he  spoke  and  wrote  a  quantity  of  clever 
nonsense  ;  and  twenty  years  afterwards,  when  a  wise  man,  he  spoke 
and  wrote  a  far  greater  quantity  of  saving  knowledge. 

Buller.  Just  so :  you  could  not  state  the  fact  better,  were  you  to 
talk  an  hour. 

Tickler.  Pray,  North,  are  you  for  pulling  down  Lord  Nelson's 
Monument  1 

North.  It  is  no  great  shakes  of  an  erection ;  but  I  would  let  it 
stand. 

Tickler.  If  Lord  Nelson's  Monument  is  to  be  pulled  down,*  because 
a  better  one  might  be  built  up,  then  I  have  a  small  proposal  to  make, 
namely  that  the  whole  New  Town  of  Edinburgh  shall  be  pulled 
down.  Does  there  exist  in  Europe — in  the  world — a  more  absurd, 
stupid,  and  unmeaning  street  than  George's-street  ?  Why,  this  very 
tavern  of  Mr.  Ambrose, f  admirable  as  it  is  beyond  all  earthly 
taverns,  ought  on  the  same  principle  to  be  pulled  down.  But  may  I 
never  live  see  that  time  !  [^Much  affected. 

Buller.  You  will  pardon  me,  my  beloved  and  honored  friends,  but 
do  you  not  think  that  the  "  Modern  Athens,"  as  applied  to  the  good 
town  of  Edinburgh,  is  pure  humbug  1 

[Tickler  and  North  rising  from  their  chairs  at  once. 

Both.  Humbug  !  aye,  humbug,  indeed,  Buller  ! 

Buller.  I  wish  to  hear  Mr.  Tickler.     He  is  the  elder. 

Tickler.  No,  sir,  I  am  no  Elder.  I  never  stood  at  the  plate ;  but 
young  as  I  am,  I  am  old  enough  to  recollect  the  day  when  such  an 

*  On  the  rocky  apex  of  the  Calton  Hill,  in  Edinburgh,  (an  elevation  of  350  feet  above  the  level 
of  the  sea),  stands  a  monument  to  Lord  Nelson,  in  the  form  of  a  tall  shaft  springing  from  an 
octagonal  base.  Asa  work  of  art,  nothing  can  be  meaner.  But  the  panoramic  vie^^'  from  its 
summit  is  magnificent,  embracing  views  on  land  and  water,  with  the  city  lying  far  beneath, 
but  full  in  sight.  The  lodge  in  the  base  of  the  Monument  is  rented  to  a  vendor  of  nuts,  cakes, 
''sweeties,"  (as  comfits  are  called  in  Scotland),  and  an  effervescing  fluid  apparently  composed 
of  bottled  soap-suds,  sweetened  with  molasses,  and  dignified  with  the  name  of  ginger  beer. — M. 

t  This  was  Ambrose's  old  hostelrie,  back  of  Princes'-street. — M. 


1822.]  THE   NEW   PARTHENON.  167 

impertinence  would  not  have  been  tolerated  in  Auld  Reekie.  In 
the  days  of  Smith,  and  Hume,  and  Robertson,  we  were  satisfied  with 
our  national  name,  and  so  were  we  during  a  later  dynasty  of  genius, 
of  which  old  Mackenzie  still  survives ;  but  now-a-days,  when  with 
the  exception  of  Scott,  yourself  North,  and  myself,  and  a  few  others, 
there  is  not  a  single  man  of  power  or  genius  in  Edinburgh,  the  prigs 
call  themselves  Athenians  !  Why,  you  may  just  as  appropriately 
call  the  first  Parallelogram,  that  shall  be  erected  on  Mr.  Owen's 
plan,  the  Modern  Athens,  as  the  New  Town  of  Edinburgh. 

Buller.  Excellent,  excellent,  go  on. 

Tickler.  Where  are  our  sculptors,  painters,  musicians,  orators,  poets, 
and  philosophers  ? — But  give  me  my  tumbler  of  gin-twist,  for  I  am 
sick. — [Drinks  and  recovers.) — The  ninnies  have  not  even  the  sense 
to  know  that  our  Calton  Hill  is  no  more  like  the  Acropolis  than 
Lord  Buchan*  is  like  Pericles,  or  Jeffrey  like  Demosthenes.  It  is 
the  Castle  Rock  that  is  like  the  Acropolis,  or  may  be  said  to  be  so  ; 
and  if  the  Parthenon  is  to  be  built  at  all,  it  musi  be  built  on  the 
Castle  Rock.  This  is  the  first  egregious  blunder  of  our  Modern 
Athenians. 

Buller.  Take  another  tift — now  for  blunder  second. 

Tickler.  It  is  all  one  great,  big,  blown,  blustering  blunder  together. 
We  are  Scotsm.en,  not  Greeks.  We  want  no  Parthenon — we  are 
entitled  to  none.-  There  are  not  ten  persons  in  Edinburgh — not  one 
Whig  I  am  sure,  who  could  read  three  lines  of  Homer  "  ad  aper- 
turam  libri.''^  There  are  pretty  Athenians  for  you!  Think  of  shoals 
of  Scotch  artisans,  with  long  lank  greasy  hair,  and  corduroy  breeches, 
walking  in  the  Parthenon  ! 

Buller.  Spare  me,  spare  me — not  a  word  more. 

Tickler.  Nay,  we  are  to  hav-e  the  Kirk  of  Scotland  in  the  naked 
simplicity  of  her  worship,  put  under  the  tutelary  power  of  the 
Virgin  Goddess.     Will  the  Scottish  nation  submit  to  this  1 

North.  How  fares  the  subscription  for  this  Parthenon  1 

Tickler.  One  parish  has  subscribed,  I  understand,  about  nine  gui- 
neas— Aberdour,  I  think.  One  old  farmer  there,  has  come  forward 
with  a  sixpence  for  the  Grand  National  Monument  ;f  but  perhaps  he 
has  not  yet  advanced  the  sum :  it  is  only  on  paper. 

North.  It  seems  to  me,  that  if  the  people  of  Scotland  really  desire 
a  National  Monument,  they  will  build  one.  They  are  not  building 
one — ergo^  they  do  not  desire  one. 

*  The  Earl  of  Buchan,  who  affected  to  be  the  patron  of  Art  and  Letters  in  Edinburgh,  "was  a 
silly  nobleman,  whose  two  brothers  were  eminently  gifted.  One,  Thomas  Erskine,  went  to  the 
English  Bar  and  rose  to  the  Chancellorship,  with  a  peerage.  The  other,  Henry  Erskine,  was  a 
member  of  the  Scottish  Bar,  eminently  shrewd,  witty,  and  learned. — M. 

t  The  National  Monument,  which  was  an  unfortunate  attempt  to  imitate  the  Parthenon  of 
Athens,  was  erected  between  1824  and  1830,  on  one  of  the  summits  of  the  Calton  Hill.  It  never 
was,  and  never  will  be  completed,  and  its  thirteen  columns  simplv  record  the  expenditure  of 
£20,0U0.-M.  .  ^ 


168  NOCTES  AMBROSIAN^. 


[April, 


TicTcler.  Michael  Linning  goes  incessantly  about  poking  the  public 
on  the  posteriors,  and  pointing  to  a  subscription  paper,  but  the  public 
won't  stir.  Such  conduct  is  very  teasing  in  Michael  Linning,  and 
should  not  be  permitted. 

Buller.  Wei],  let  Michael  Linning  go  to  the  devil. — But  I  wish  to 
know  what  all  the  young  Whigs  are  about.     I  see  none  of  them. ! 

Tickler.  Look  into  a  ditch  in  dry  droughty  weather,  and  you  will 
behold  a  sad  mortality  among  the  tadpoles.  The  poor  Powheads, 
(see  Dr.  Jamieson)  are-  all  baked  up  together  in  a  mud-pie,  and  not 
a  wriggle  is  in  the  ditch. 

North.  Why,  Buller,  in  other  times  these  tadpoles  shot  out  legs 
and  arms,  and  became  small  bouncing  frogs.  Their  activity  was 
surprising,  and  their  croak  loud.  But  the  race  is  nearly  extinct,  and 
in  a  few  years  must  be  entirely  so  ;  for  the  old  frogs  don't  spawn 
now — very  seldom  at  least ;  and  when  they  do,  the  spawn  is  either 
not  prolific,  or  immediately  destroyed.  Now  and  then  a  young 
Whig  or  two  comes  forth,  nobody  can  conjecture  whence ;  but  we 
either  take  him  and  throw  him  aside,  or  he  leaps  off  himself  into 
some  crevice  or  cranny,  and  is  no  more  seen. 

Buller.  I  cannot  agree  with  you.  Tickler,  in  thinking  Jeffrey  a  poor 
creature. 

Tickler.  I  don't  think  him  a  poor  creature — I  never  said  so.  But 
I  think  he  is  a  small-minded  man.  His  ambition  is  -low.  He  talks 
about  it — and  about  it — and  about  it.  He  is  contented  to  be  a  critic 
— that  is,  a  palaverer.  His  politics  are  enough  to  damn  him  for  ever, 
as  no  Scotchman.  But  he  is  not  worth  talking  about.  He  is  just 
like  a  small  black-faced  mountain  sheep,  who,  spying  a  gap  in  a  fence, 
bolts  through  it  with  his  hinder  clooties  jerked  up  pertly  and  yet 
timidly  in  the  air,  and  is  immediately  followed  by  all  the  wethers 
and  ewes,  who  ask  no  questions  at  their  Leader,  but  wheel  round 
about  upon  you  with  spiral  horns,  and  large  gray  glowering  eyes,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  What  think  you  o'  that  f  We  think  merely,  that 
they  are  a  set  of  silly  sheep,  whose  wool  is  not  worth  the  clipping, — 
but  that  do  very  well  ivhen  cut  up. 

Buller.  I  observed  t'other  day  an  article  in  the  Edinburgh  Review, 
in  which  Oriel  College  is  described  as  a  sink,  into  which  ran  every 
thing  vile  and  loathsome,  and  Coplestone  sneered  at  as  a  pompous 
ninny.  In  the  next  number.  Oriel  College  was  said  to  be  the  most 
distinguished  in  Europe,  I  believe,  and  Coplestone  one*  of  the  most 
illustrious  writers  of  the  age.  Must  not  Jeffrey,  if  a  gentleman  and 
a  scholar,  or  a  gentleman  and  no  scholar,  which  I  believe  is  the  case, 
feel  ashamed  of  such  childish  and  beggarly  contradiction  as  this  % 
What  right  has  he  to  make  a  fool  of  himself  to  that  extent  ?  Is  not 
Jeffrey  an  Oxonian  % 

North.  Upwards  of  thirty  years  ago,  he  remained  for  a  few  weeks 


1822.]  THE   NEW   MONTHLY.  169 

in  a  small  garret  in  Queen's — does  that  make  him  an  Oxonian  1 — 
But  enough  of  this  little  personage.     Tickler,  start  a  new  subject. 

Tickler.  I  hate  novelties.  Is  the  prosecution  mania  about  to  sub- 
side, think  you  1  Now-a-days,  every  word  is  said  to  be  actionable. 
You  cannot  open  your  mouth,  or  put  pen  to  paper,  without  feeing  a 
libel-lawyer.  An  Edinburgh  Whig,  and  really  some  of  the  London 
ones  seem  no  better,  is  an  animal  without  a  skin.  True,  he  is  often 
covered  with  long  shaggy  hair,  and  he  roars  like  an  absolute  lion ; 
but  the  instant  you  give  him  a  kick,  or  stir  him  up  with  a  long  pole, 
he  begins  to  yell  out  in  the  most  piteous  strain,  and  you  tremble  lest 
you  have  killed  him.  You  then  perceive  that  under  this  formidable- 
looking  hair,  the  creature's  body  is  quite  raw,  and  that  a  prick  with 
the  point  of  the  pen  gives  him  intolerable  anguish.  Nay,  if  you  but 
turn  the  round  nose  of  a  quill  towards  him,  he  bellows ;  and  more 
than  once  have  I  put  him  to  flight  with  my  keelie-vine,* 

Bulle7\  What  is  the  Prosecution-mania'? 

Tickler.  The  Whigs  here  have,  as  you  know,  been  laughing  at 
every  body  for  twenty  years — indulging  in  every  species  of  stupid 
personalities  and  slanders — nay,  they  are  doing  so  still  hourly — in 
all  the  envenomed  bitterness  of  impotent  and  mauled  malice — and 
yet  they  have  entered  into  a  cowardly  compact  to  prosecute  every 
syllable  that  shall  ever  be  written  against  any  one  of  their  degraded 
and  slanderous  selves.  Is  not  this  base  and  cravenlike  1  These  are 
the  Slaves  of  Freedom — the  dolts  of  wit — these  are  our  modern 
Athenians. 

North.  I  am  a  prejudiced  person — what  think  you  of  the  London 
periodicals  lately.  Tickler  1 

Tickler.  Campbell's  Magazine  is  a  respectable  work,  on  the  whole. 
It  is  seldom  very  personal,  although  sometimes.  That,  in  my  opinion, 
is  a  great  point,  whether  gained  or  lost,  it  is  hard  to  decide.  It  is 
often  unaccountably  dull.  It  cannot  be  read  after  dinner,  at  the 
fireside,  with  your  feet  on  the  fender,  and  your  back  on  an  easy 
chair,  without  immediate  sleep.  But  that  is  a  severe  test  to  try  any 
periodical  by.  It  has  no  plan,  aim,  object,  or  drift.  You  are  swim- 
ming in  fresh  water ;  there  is  no  buoyancy,  one  number  is  precisely 
like  another — sometimes  a  little  more,  sometimes  a  little  less  dull — 
that  is  all,  and  it  is  a  distinction  without  a  difference. 

Buller.  What  think  you  of  its  politics? 

Tickler.  Very  badly.  Its  politics  consist  in  concealed,  suppressed, 
discontented,  yawmering  (see  the  Dr.)  whiggism.  There  is  nothing 
manly  in  them — be  a  Tory — be  a  Whig — but  don't  go  mumbling 
your  political  opinions,  and  stuttering  out  sentiments  of  liberty,  and 
whispering  reform  below  your  breath.  If  you  have  got  any  thing  to 
say,  out  with  it ;  if  not,  shut  your  mouth,  or  open  it  and  go  to  bed. 

*  Keelie-vine ;—a,  pen,  a  pencil  of  black  or  red  lead.— M. 
VOL.  I.  8 


170  NOCTES   AMBROSIAN^.  [April, 

Buller.  I  intend  to  take  Campbell's  Magazine,  for  I  wish  to  know 
his  opinion  of  his  contemporaries. 

Tickler.  Do  you  1  Put  him  on  the  rack  then,  or  threaten  to  break 
his  bones  on  the  wheel ;  for  without  some  pjompt  and  vigorous  mea- 
sure of  that  sort,  he  will  utter  nothing  satisfactory.  He  gets  Cock- 
neys to  criticise  his  contemporaries. 

North.  Who  are  the  poor  creatures  ? 

Tickler.  What !  you  pretend  you  don't  know.  But  let  them  rest. 
It  is  a  sad  sight  to  see  a  true  poet  and  gentleman  like  Tom  Campbell 
with  such  paltry  associates,  to  hear  the  Attic  bee  murmuring  among 
a  set  of  blue-bottle-flies,  moths,  and  midges.  Wasps  are  better  than 
great  fat  stingless  bummers  .  .  •.  But  notwithstanding,  Campbell's 
Magazine  is  a  very  respectable  one,  and  I  will  not  suffer  you,  North, 
out  of  pure  jealousy,  to  run  it  down.  You  ought  rather  to  give  it  a 
lift — if  it  does  not  deserve,  it  at  least  requires  one. 

North.  Tickler,  if  you  saw  Tom  Campbell  falling  out  of  a  window 
four  stories  high  would  you  try,  at  the  risk  of  your  bones,  to  break 
his  fall  1  Would  it  make  any  difference  whether  he  had  flung  himself 
over,  or  Mr.  Colburn  had  insidiously  opened  the  sash  and  enticed 
him  over  ?  Not  a  whit.  You  would  stand  out  of  the  way.  There 
can  be  no  successful  interference  with  the  great  laws  of  nature,  espe- 
cially gravitation. 

Buller.  Taylor  and  Hessey's  Magazine — is  it  better? 

Tickler.  Sometimes  much  better,  and  often  much  worse.  "!&lia 
in  his  happiest  moods  delights  me ;  he  is  a  fine  soul ;  but  when  he  is 
dull,  his  dulness  sets  human  stupidity  at  defiance.  He  is  like  a  well- 
bred,  ill-trained  pointer.  He  has  a  fine  nose,  but  he  won't  or  can't 
range.  He  keeps  always  close  to  your  foot,  and  then  he  points  larks 
and  titmice.  You  see  him  snufling  and  snoking  and  brandishing  his 
tail  with  the  most  impassioned  enthusiasm,  and  then  drawn  round 
into  a  semicircle  he  stands  beautifully — dead  set.  You  expect  a 
burst  of  partridges,  or  a;  towering  cock-pheasant,  when  lo,  and  behold, 
away  flits  a  lark,  or  you  discover  a  mouse's  nest,  or  there  is  abso- 
lutely nothing  at  all.  Perhaps  a  shrew  has  been  there  the  day  before. 
Yet  if  Elia  were  mine,  I  would  not  part  with  him,  for  all  his  faults.* 

Buller.  Who,  in  the  name  of  St.  Luke's,  Bedlam,  and  the  Retreat 
at  York,  is  the  English  Opium-Eater  1     He  ought  to  go  to  Smyrna. 

Tickler.  The  English  Opium-Eater  would  be  an  invaluable  con- 
tributor to  any  periodical,  especially  if  it  were  published  once  in  the 
four  years.f      He  threatened  to  make  the   London   Magazine  the 

*  In  later  years,  Lamb  did  -write  for  Blackivood. — M. 

t  De  Q.uincey,  speaking  of  the  London  Magazine^  says,  "Meantime,  the  following  writers 
were,  in  1821-33,  among  my  own  CoUaborateurs  ; — Charles  Lamb  ;  Hazlitt  :  Allan  Cunning- 
ham ;  Hood  ;  Hamilton  Reynolds ;  Gary,  the  unrivalled  translator  of  Dante  ;  Crowe,  the  Public 
Orator  of  Oxford.  And  so  well  were  all  departments  provided  for,  that  even  the  monthly  ab- 
stract of  politics,  brief  as  it  necessarily  was,  had  been  confided  to  the  care  of  Phillips,  the  cele- 
brated Irish  barrister."— There  were  others,  among  whom  were  John  Clare,  the  peasant  poet 


1822.]  THE   MAGAZINES.  171 

receptacle  of  all  the  philosophy  and  literature  of  Germany.     "  Os 
magna  sonaturum  !"     "  Vox  et  nihil  prseterea." 

North.  When  he  writes  again  in  the  London  Magazine,  it  will  be 
well  worth  half  a-crown.  By  the  way,  Tickler,  what  do  you  think 
of  the  Continuation  of  Dr.  Johnson's  Lives  of  the  Poets  in  that 
periodical  ? 

Tickler.  Mere  quackery.*^  Why,  the  compiler  manufactures  a  life 
of  this  and  that  poet  from  materials  in  every  body's  hands,  and  then 
boldly  calls  it  "  A  Continuation  of  Dr.  Johnson's  Lives,"  &c.  There 
seems  no  attempt  to  imitate  his  style  at  all.  According  to  this 
notion,  every  thing  that  comes  after  another  is  a  continuation  of  it. 
Is  this  quackery,  or  is  it  not,  North  % 

North.  I  see  no  harm  in  a  little  quackery;  all  we  editors  are 
quacks.     I  acknowledge  myself  to  be  a  quack. 

Tickler.  Ay,  here  carousing  over  Ambrosia  and  Nectar.  But 
would  you,  publicly  1 

North.  Yes ;  on  the  top  of  St.  Paul's — or  in  my  own  Magazine, 
that  is,  before  the  whole  universe. — Buller,  what  are  you  about  1 

Buller.  Mr.  North,  have  you  seen  a  new  periodical  called  the 
Album  ? 

North.  I  have;  it  promises  well.f  The  editor  is  manifestly  a 
gentleman.  The  work  is  on  beautiful  paper,  admirably  printed,  and 
the  articles  are  well  written,  elegant  and  judicious.  I  think  that  in 
all  probability  *the  next  number  will  be  better.  The  editor  has  not 
attempted  to  make  a  splash-dash-flash  all  at  once ;  but  he  has  stuff  in 
him,  I  know  that,  and  so  have  some  of  his  coadjutors.  I  know  him 
and  them  extremely  well ;  I  pat  them  on  the  back,  bid  them  be  good 
boys,  and  always  speak  truth,  and  they  will  have  nothing  to  fear. 

Tickler.  Nothing  amuses  me  more  than  to  see  Magazines — which, 
after  all,  are  not  living  beings,  but  just  so  many  stitched  sheets  of 
letter-press,  going  to  loggerheads  and  becoming  personal.  Up  jumps 
Ebony's  Magazine,  and  plants  a  left-handed  lounge  on  the  iDread- 
basket  of  Taylor  and  Hessey's.  That  periodical  strips  instanter,  a 
ring  is  formed,  and  the  numbers  are  piping  hot  as  mutton-pies.     Can 

of  Northamptonshire  ;  Talfourd,  then  the  undistinguished,  but  future  author  of  "  Ion  ;"  Wain- 
wright,  -whose  nom  deplume  was  "Janus  Weathercock,"  whose  crimes  subsequently  supplied 
real  tragic  incidents,  on  which  Bulwer  founded  his  domestic  romance— full  of  tragic  interest- 
called  '•  Lucretia ;  or  the  Children  of  Night !"  I  think,  too,  that  Haydon  sometimes  wrote  for 
T/ie  London,  which  gave  etchings  from  his  pictures  of  Christ's  Agony  in  the  Garden,  and  the 
Entry  into  Jerusalem.  With  such  an  array  of  contributors,  the  London  Magazine  should 
have  flourished.  In  the  words  of  the  Irish  Keeners,  when  they  apostrophize  the  departed  whose 
remains  lie  cold  before  them,  we  might  ask,  "Ah,  why  did  you  die?" — M. 

*  To  continue  Johnson's  Lives  of  the  Poets  might  have  been  "mere  quackery,"  in  North's 
opinion,  but  the  Continuator  was  the  Rev.  Henry  Francis  Gary,  the  Translator  of  Dante,  of 
the  Odes  of  Pindar,  and  of  the  ''Birds  of  Aristophanes."— In  the  last  London  edition  of  John- 
son's laves  of  the  Poets,  beautifully  illustrated,  the  continuation  by  Gary  has  been  incoi-po- 
rated,  and  gives  additional  value  to  a  work,  which,  with  many  faults  (for  Johnson  had  numerous 
literary  and  personal  prejudices),  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  books  in  the  English  language, 
not  Laving  been  commenced  until  the  author  was  seventy  years  old  !— Gary  died  in  lh'44. — M. 

t  It  was  edited  by  Charles  Knight  (assisted,  I  believe,  by  Charles  Oilier,  author  of  "  Inesella") 
and  was  short-lived. — M- 


172  NOCTES   AMBROSIAN^.  [April, 

any  thing  be  more  ridiculous'?  Colburn's  Magazine,  on  the  other 
hand,  is  a  Corinthian,  and  won't  show  fight.  All  I  mean  is,  that 
Magazines  ought  not  to  quarrel ;  there  are  snuff-dealers  and  pastry- 
cooks enow  for  us  all ;  and  a  sale  will  be  found  for  us  all  at  last. 

North.  Who  the  devil  is  more  pugnacious  than  yourself,  Tickler  ? 
Why,  you  lay  about  you  like  a  bull  in  a  china  shop. 

Tickler.  Not  at  all.  I  have  serious  intentions  of  turning  Quaker. 
If  not — certainly  a  clergyman.  Quakers  and  parsons  may  be  as  per- 
sonal as  they  choose.  The  same  man  might  then  either  give  or  take 
the  lie  direct,  who  would,  as  a  layman,  have  boggled  at  the  retort 
courteous. 

North.  What  is  the  world  saying  now  about  me,  do  you  think,  my 
Tickler^ 

Tickler.  They  flatter  you  so  in  all  directions,  that  you  must  become 
a  spoiled  child.  A  few  weeks  ago  I  met  an  elderly  young  woman  in 
a  coach  going  to  Glasgow,  who  could  not  speak  of  you  without  tears. 
She  said  you  were  the  most  pathetic  man  she  had  ever  read.  The 
coach  was  crowded — there  were  seven  of  us  inside,  for  we  had  kindly 
taken  in  a  grazier  during  a  hail-storm  near  Westcraigs,  and  there  was 
not  a  single  dissentient  voice. 

North.  Did  the  grazier  entertain  the  same  sentiments  as  the  lady  ? 

Tickler. '  He  said,  with  a  smile  that  would  have  graced  a  slaughter- 
house, that  it  was  not  the  first  Stot  you  had  knocked  down.  The 
lady  seemed  to  understand  the  allusion,  and  blushed. 

North.  Did  you  proceed  to  Glasgow  1 

Tickler.  Yes;  I  had  been  elected  an  honorary  member  of  the 
"  Oriental  Club  of  the  West."  I  went  to  take  my  seat.  They  are 
a  set  of  most  admirable  despots.  We  all  sat  cross-legged  like  Turks 
or  tailors,  as  if  Glasgow  had  been  Constantinople.  I  will  give  you  a 
description  of  us  for  your  next  Number. 

North.  Do  so.  But  then  the  London  people  will  say  it  is  local. 
And  why  not  1  London  itself  is  the  most  provincial  spot  alive.  Let 
our  Magazine  be  read  in  the  interior  of  Africa,  along  with  either,  or 
both  of  the  two  Monthlies,  and  which  will  seem  most  of  a  cosmopo- 
lite to  the  impartial  black  population  1  Ebony.  The  London  people, 
with  their  theatres,  operas.  Cockneys,  &c.,  &c.,  are  wholly  unintel- 
ligible out  of  their  own  small  town.  The  truth  must  be  told  them — 
London  is  a  very  small  insignificant  place.*  Our  ambition  is,  that 
our  wit  shall  be  local  all  over  the  world. 

Tickler.  It  is  so.  It  is  naturalized  in  all  the  kingdoms  of  the 
earth.  What  can  John  Bull  mean  by  saying  he  does  not  understand 
many  of  your  allusions  ?  He  is  mistaken.  John  Bull  understands 
every  thing  worth  understanding — and  therefore,  his  knowledge  of 
Ebony  is  complete.     But  even  if  he  did  not,  is  it  not  pleasant  some- 

#  Yes !— particularly  in  1854,  with  a  population  of  2,500,000.— M. 


1822.]  JOHN   BULL   AND   EBOIO".  173 

times  to  see  things  under  a  tender,  obscure,  and  hazy  light  ?  John 
Bull's  notices  to  correspondents  I  do  not  always  thoroughly  under- 
stand ;  but  I  read  them  with  delight :  and  I  never  lay  down  a  No.  of . 
his  paper  without  repeating  that  wise  saw  of  Hamlet,  "  There  are 
more  things  in  heaven  and  earth  than  are  dreamt  of  in  my  philosophy." 

North.  It  is  not  at  all  like  John  Bull  to  accuse  us  of  laughing 
occasionally  at  the  Quarterly  Eeview,  "because  there  has  been  a  quar- 
rel between  Blackwood  and  Murray."  What  do  we  care  about 
Blackwood  or  Murray  ?  Not  one  sous.  But  when,  how,  why,  or 
where  did  these  mighty  personages  quarrel  %  I  never  heard  of  it 
before  last  Wednesday. 

Tickler.  Don't  you  recollect.  North,  some  years  ago,  that  Murray's 
name  was  on  our  title-page  ;  and  that,  being  alarmed  for  Subscrip- 
tion Jamie,  and  Harry  Twitcher,*  he  took  up  his  pen  and  scratched 
his  name  out,  as  if  he  had  been  Emperor  of  the  West,  signing  an 
order  for  our  execution  1  The  death-warrant  came  down,  but  we  are 
still  alive. 

North.  I  do  indistinctly  remember  reading  something  to  that  effect 
in  a  Whig  newspaper,  but  of  course  I  supposed  it  to  be  a  lie ;  but,  if 
true,  what  then  1  Are  we  angry  now  with  a  gentlemanly  person  like 
Mr.  Murray,  for  attempting  to  cut  his  own  throat  some  years  ago  1 
Too  absurd  a  great  deal. 

Tickler.  Certainly.  John  Bull  himself  knows  that  we  laugh  at 
'the  Quarterly  Review,  only  when  it  is  laughable.  He  knows  we  ad- 
mire it,  and  say  so,  when  it  is  admirable.  Of  all  the  periodicals  now 
flourishing  or  fading,  Blackwood's  Magazine  is  the  most  impar- 
tial. Yes,  its  illustrious  editor  despises  all  the  chicanery  of  the 
trade.  Trojan  or  Tyrian,  that  is,  Murray  or  Constable, — Longman 
and  Rees,  or  Taylor  and  Hessey, — Richardson  of  Cornhill,  or  Oilier 
of  Bond-street, — with  you  they  are  held  in  no  distinction.  Theii 
good  books  you  toss  up  to  the  stars,  and  their  bad  you  trample  down 
to  Tartarus. 

North.  John  Bull  also  says,  that  the  Edinburgh  and  Quarterly 
Reviews  are  works  of  a  higher  class  than  Blackwood's  Magazine.  1 
am  truly  vexed  to  differ  from  him  here.  They  are  works  of  an  older, 
thicker,  and  heavier,  but  not  of  a  higher  class.  A  review  is  not 
necessarily  a  higher  work  than  a  magazine — any  more  than  a  maga- 
zine is  necessarily  a  higher  work  than  a  weekly  newspaper — or  a 
weekly  newspaper  than  a  daily  one.  Genius,  learning,  and  virtue, 
constitute  the  only  essential  difference  between  work  and  work ;  and 
in  these,  we  never  heard  it  whispered,  that  this  Magazine  is  inferior 
to  any  work,  living  or  dead. 

*  Sir  James  Mackintosh  and  Henry  Brougham.— M. 


174  NOCTES   AMBEOSIAN^.  [April, 

Tickler.  John  Bull  may  be  right  after  all.  He  is  an  incompre- 
hensible mortal.'" 

North.  The  John  Bull  newspaper  is  a  chariot  armed  with  scythes 
— the  Morning  Chronicle  is  a  market  cart,  out  of  which  a  big  empty 
turnip  or  cabbage  keeps  trundling  ever  and  anon  against  honest  peo- 
ple's legs  ;  but  a  dexterous  turn  of  the  ankle  shys  it  into  the  kemiel, 
and  no  harm  done. 

Tickler.  However,  in  sober  seriousness,  you  are  an  almost  univer- 
sal favorite.  You  burn  like  a  gas-light  among  oil-lamps.  The  affec- 
tion felt  for  you  is  a  mixture  of  love,  fear,  and  astonishment, — three 
emotions  that  play  into  each  other's  hands.  The  sex  regard  you  with 
a  mixed  passion,  of  which  the  fundamental  feature  is  love.  Fear  is 
the  chief  ingredient  in  the  ruling  passion  towards  you  of  literary 
gentlemen  under  fifty — and  with  Grey  Bennet,f  and  old.  women  in 
general — astonishment. 

Buller.  [Yawning.)  Would  you  like  to  marry  an  actress ? 

Tickler  and  North.  Whom  are  you  speaking  to  1 

Buller.  To  any  body. 

Tickler.  Not  for  my  first  wife.  After  a  private  spouse  or  two,  I 
should  not  care  for  marrying  a  pretty  young  actress  to  rub  my  bald 
pate  in  my  old  age ;  at  the  same  time,  a  man  should  consider  his 
posthumous  fame.  Now,  if  your  relict,  before  you  are  well  warm 
in  your  grave,  marry  an  Irishman  forty  years  younger,  and  three 
feet  broader  across  the  back  than  you  her  late  dearly  beloved  hus- 
band, your  posthumous  fame  receives  a  blow  that  demolishes  it  at 
once  irretrievably — that  should  be  considered. 

Buller.  Why,  I  begin  to  get  drowsy — was  I  snoring  1 

Tickler.  Like,  a  trooper.     Ring  the  bell,  my  buck. 

Enter  Mr.  Ambrose. 

North.  What's  to  pay? 

Mr.  Ambrose.  I  beg  you  won't  mention  it.  I  am  so  happy  to  see 
Mr.  Buller  in  Scotland  again,  that  I  cannot  think  of  making  any 
charge  for  a  few  hundred  oysters,  and  a,  mere  gallon  of  gin. 

North.  Assist  me  on  with  my  great-coat — there — there — easy — 
easy.  Now,  my  cane.  Give  me  your  arm,  Ambrose — am  I  quite 
steady  ?      ' 

Mr.  Ambrose.  As  steady  as  York  Minster,  sir. 

[^They  vanish  into  thin  air. 

*  In  those  days  Theodore  Hook  was  the  presiding  genius  of  the  J.ihn  Bull  newspaper, — and 
made  it  overflow  with  wit,  satire,  scandal,  humor,  Toryism,  and  dashing  personalities. — M. 

t  Henry  Grey  Bennett,  an  active  liberal,  represented  Shrewsbury  in  Parliament  for  many 
years,  but  on  the  discovery  of- certain  criminal  practices,  fled  to  Paris,  where  he  died. — M. 


No.  III.— MAY,  1822. 

SCENE  l.—TiMB—Six  o'clock,  P.  M.     Sc^^i^— The   Blue  Parlor. 

To  Mr.  North,  standing  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  in  full  fig, 
Enter  Mr.  Timothy  Tickler. 

North.  Good  day,  sir ;  I'm  glad  I'm  not  to  dine  quite  alone.  I 
began  to  think  nobody  was  coming. 

Tickler.  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  North,  but  I  really  had  no  notion 
it  was  so  far  in  the  day.  I  took  my  chocolate  as  usual  about  two, 
and  then  went  out  into  the  Meadows*  and  wandered  about. 

North.  About  what,  you  old  rogue,  you  %  But  no  apologies.  I'm 
glad  you've  made  your  appearance  at  least. 

Tickler.  I  hope  you'll  excuse  my  gaiters.  North ;  I  had  not  the 
least  idea  you  were  to  sport  a  regular  blow-out  to-day.  I  looked 
into  the  other  room,  and  saw  such  a  smash  of  covers — and  you  in 
your  silk  stockings  too  ! — I  suppose  you've  been  sporting  your  ankles 
with  the  Commissioner. 

North.  Not  I;  but  I  expect  several  strangers  to  dinner,  and  an 
editor  is  nothing  without  black  breeches,  you  know — but  you  need 
not  say  a  word  about  your  dress.  Upon  my  honor,  that's  a  most 
natty  surtout — and  your  spatterdashes,  why  they  are  quite  the  potato. 
For  a  contributor  you  are  well  enough — and,  after  all,  there's  no 
ladies  in  the  party. 

Tickler.  What !  not  even  Mrs.  M'Whirter  !f  I'll  do  well  enough 
as  I  am  for  your  Kempferhausens  and  Mullions,  et  hoc  genus,  if  that's 
all  the  party. 

North.  That's  not  it  quite  either,  Mr.  Timothy.  I  expect  two  or 
three  gentlemen  you  have  never  been  in  company  with,  and  I  believe 
the  meeting  will  give  pleasure  on  all  sides — There's  Sir  Andrew 
Wylie  for  one. J 

Tickler.  What !  he  of  that  Ilk  %     Old  Wheelie  1 

*The  Meadows  lie  south  of  Heriot's  and  George  Watson's  Hospital's,  in  Edinburgh,  and, 
with  Bruntsfield  Links,  extend  to  about  200  acres,  which  are  open  for  the  recreation  of  the 
inhabitants,  by  virtue  of  royal  grants  to  the  city.  The  national  game  of  Golf  is  played  on  the 
fine  open  downs  of  Bruntsfield  Links. — M. 

t  Mrs.  M'Whirter,  Odoherty's  ancient  Philadelphia  flame,  never  honored  The  Noctes  with 
her  presence.     Her  last  appearance  was — in  The  Tent. — M. 

X  Gait,  in  the  novel  of  "  Sir  Andrew  Wylie,  of  that  Ilk,"  (equivalent  to  "  of  Wylie")  had 
narrated  the  adventures  of  a  poor  Scottish  lad  who  went  to  London  to  seek  his  fortune,  and 
returned  home  with  riches  and  rank. — M. 


176  NOCTES   AMBKOSIANJE.  [May, 

Korth.  The  same — he's  an  Elder  in  this  General  Assembly,  and 
hi^^  (hum,  Dr.  Scott,^'  who  is  also  a  member  of  the  venerable  court, 
introduced  him  to  me  a  few  mornings  ago  at  the  Moderator's  break- 
fast. 1  declare  the  western  worthies  eclipsed  even  the  ministers  !  I 
never  saw  two  such  twists — I  beg  your  pardon — I  hope  Mrs.  Tickler 
is  well. 

Tickler.  So,  so,  North  : — Of  course  Sir  Andrew  wrote  his  own  Life  ? 

North.  Why,  you  know  every  body  writes  books  in  our  days,  and 
nobody  owns  them.  But  I  suppose  he  and  the  Odontist  patched  up 
the  Life  between  them.  They're  a  couple  of  queer  comical  old 
devils.  The  Baronet,  a  deuced  rum  fellow,  to  be  sure ;  but  Coun- 
tesses and  Duchesses  adore  him,  and  we  must  all  confess  he  is  one  of 
the  cleverest,  and  at  the  same  time  best-tempered  creatures  alive. 

Tickler.  Whom  else  have  ye? 

North.  Mr.  Pendarves  Owen — a. very  pretty-behaved  young  gen- 
tleman. 

'  Tickler.  By  Jove,  if  he  leaps  out  of  a  window  here,  there  will  be 
a  pretty  end  of  the  pretty -behaved  gentleman.  Imagine  a  fellow 
clearing  the  Cowgate,  or  Hopping  over  the  Horse  Wynd,  fourteen 
stories  deep,  from  a  skylight  to  a  chimney  top.f  Of  course  the  lad 
has  a  bee  in  his  bonnet. 

North.  Perhaps  you'll  find  it  a  wasp  if  you  go  too  near.  He's  a 
cursed  hot  fellow— but  so  are  all  the  Taffy  breed.  But  what  was  I 
thinking  of?     There's  Feldborg  behind. $ 

Tickler.  Feldborg  the  Dane  1 — really  ? 

North.  Feldborg — ipsissimus  ipse  !  I  hear  his  cough  on  the  stair 
this  moment.  He  arrived  in  the  Roads  last  night  at  a  quarter  after 
eleven. 

Enter  Mr.  Ambrose. 

Mr.  Ambrose.  Professor  Feldborg  !  [Exit. 

Enter  Feldborg,  the  Dane. 

Feldborg.  With  joy  and  ravishment,  O  illustrious  man,  do  I  once 
more  contemplate  thee.     From  the  very  first  instant  of  the  time  I 

*  Dr.  Scott,  "  the  Odontist,"  as  sKown  in  Maga,  was  nearly  as  imaginary  as  Sir  Andrew 
Wylie.— M.  1^ 

t  In  the  summer  of  1822  was  published,  by  Blackwood,  of  Edinburgh,  a  novel  called  Pen 
Owen,  in  three  volumes.  It  was  written  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Hook,  who  was  cousin  to  the 
facetious  Theodore.  Another  novel,  called  "  Percy  Mallory,"  was  all  that  the  same  pen  con- 
tributed to  public  amusement,  in  the  way  of  prose  fiction.  Pen  Owen  was  reviewed  in  Black- 
loood  for  June  1822.  by  which  its  merits  were  widely  made  known.  The  reviewer^said  that 
it  was  an  eminently  successful  "attempt  to  revive  the  old  siyle  of  the  time  of  George  II. 
and  applv  it  to  the  time  of  George  IV."— The  work  took  its  hero  into  all  sorts  of  plays  :  now  in 
the  House  of  Common.^,  listening  to  a  debate;  in  Newgate,  in  company  with  Cohbett ;  in 
Albemarle-.street,  dining  at  John  Murray's,  next  to  Tom  Sheridan  ;  in  a  sort  of  Cato-street 
Conspir.'^cy.  with  an  examination  at  the  Home  Office  as  a  wind-up  ;  at  Smithficld,  amid  the 
drovers,  (how  capitally  Noah  Tup  robs  simple  Tom  Crossthwaite  !)  ;  in  a  political  debating 
society  ;  in  fact,  in  all  places  and  with  all  people  in  London,  in  the  year  of  grace  1S22.  Pen 
Owen,  the  hero,  was  the  most  impulsive  of  beings,  and  this  is  the  gentleman  brought  into  the 
Third  of  the  Noctes.— M. 

X  The  Dane  was  imaginary — as  far  as  the  Noctes  were  concerned. — M. 


1822.]  THE   GUESTS.  177 

re-landecl  on  the  Albionean  coast,  did  my  mind — my  soul — my 
spirituous  part  thirst  after  thee.  And  to  thee,  also  most  admired 
and  honorable  Mr.  Tickler,  I  offer  my  heartfelt  salutations.  Heaven 
surely,  what  I  hope,  has  favored  you  both,  me  absente,  dum  in  Dania 
mea  moratus  sum. 

North.  All  hail.  Prince  of  Denmark  !  And  how  is  the  little  Prince 
that  you  told  so  many  pretty  stories  to,  and  how  are  Oehlenschlaeger, 
and  Baggesen,  and  Bombardius,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  Danes? 

Feldborg.  AH  quite  hearty,  quite  the  charming  agreeable  spirits, 
and  all  in  louf  with  you.  Baggesen  is  writing  a  very  big  book  all 
about  you.  Its  title  is  De  Amove  Northi  apud  Danos.  The  book  will 
make  a  sensation — it  is  dedicated  what  you  call  to  Oehlenschlaeger. 

North.  What  ? — so  they  have  made  up  matters  ! 

Feldborg.  Quite  reconciled — I  saw  with  mine  own  eyes  Baggesen 
smoking  one,  two,  three  long,  very  long  puffs  out  of  Oehlenschlaeger's 
pipe.  I  wrote  a  very  pretty  poem  on  that  subject  in  the  Copenhagen 
Chronicle.     It  has  already  been  translated  into  Swedish  and  Lapp. 

North.  It  must  now  be  well  known  if  that's  the  case — but  here 
comes  the  rest  of  our  friends.  Sir  Andrew,  your  most  obedient 
humble  servant. 

Enter  Sir  Andrew  Wtlie,  Dr.   Scott,  Mr.    Pendarves  Owen, 
Ensign  O'Doherty,  and  the  Rev.  Donald  Wodrow,  D.D. 

I'm  exceedingly  proud  of  having  the  honor  to  see  you  all  here, 

gentlemen — Dr.  Scott,  don't  pull  my  wrist  out  of  joint,  man — Mr. 
Owen,  I'm  delighted — Dr.  Wodrow,  how-do-you-c/o,  my  good  sir? 
Has  the  overture  come  on  yet?     [^szc?^.]     Order  dinner,  Odoherty. 

Rev.  Dr.  Wodrow.  Why,  Mr.  North,  you  see  that  business  from 
the  Ayr  brethren  has  occupied  the  committee  so  long,  that  our 
overture 

North.  Gentlemen,  allow  me  to  make  you  all  acquainted.  Sir 
Andrew  Wylie,  Mr.  Tickler — Mr.  Tickler,  Sir  Andrew  Wylie. 
Professor  Feldborg,  Captain  Odoherty — Captain  Odoherty,  Profes- 
sor Feldborg.  Captain  Odoherty,  allow  me  the  pleasure  of  introduc- 
ing you  to  my  friend  Dr.  Wodrow — Fm  sure  you're  no  strangers  to 
each  other's  names  at  all  events.  Well,  now,  are  all  the  salaams 
over  ?     Do  any  of  you  choose  a  whet  before  dinner  ? 

Rev.  Dr.  Wodrow.  It  is  not  my  custom  to  take  any  thing  before 
dinner ;  but  really,  you  folk  in  the  town,  you  dine  so  late — and  I 
took,  thoughtlessly,  some  very  salt  ham  this  morning  at  the  Mode- 
rator's. 

North.  There's  a  variety  of  liquors  on  the  side-table — Odoherty, 
give  Dr.  Wodrow  a  little  Seltzer-water,  or  something  cooling. 

While   Odoherty  is  handing  round  a    salver.,  covered  with 
small  glasses^  dtc.,enter  Ambrose,  with  a  towel  under  his  arm.) 


178 


NOCTES    AMBROSIAN^. 


[May, 


.  Ambrose.  Gentlemen — dinner. 
North.  Gentlemen,  I'll  show  the  way.     Sir  Andrew,  your  arm. 

\Exeunt  C.  N.  and  Sir  A.  W, 
Odoherty.   Seriiores  sint  p7'iores  /    Cedani  arma  togoe. 

[^Exit  Professor  Feldborg. 
Tickler.  I  can't  walk  before  so  many  Doctors.     Walk  away.  Dr. 
Scott. 

Rev.  Dr.  Wodrow,  [brushing  hastily  out  of  the  room.)  Come  away, 
Dr.  Scott. 

Dr.  Scott.  Mr.  Tickler,  if  yow  please,  sir. 
Tickler.  0  fie,  Doctor — after  you,  Doctor. 

l^Exit  Dr.  Scott — exit  Tickler. 
Odoherty.  Come  along,  Mr.  Owen.     What  a  hubbub  these  old 
Puts  make,  with  their  hanged  precedence !     Did  you  notice  how  the 
D.D.  hopped  off?     As  brisk  as  a  beetle,  by  St.  Patrick ! 

SCENE  II. 
C.  North,  Esq. 


Sir  Andrew  Wylie 
Bart. 


Rev.  Dr.  Wodrow. 


Timothy  Tickler, 
Esq. 


0 

0 

0 

0 

0 

0 

0 

0 

Prof.  Feldborg. 


Dr.  Scott. 


Pendarves  Owen, 


Esq. 


North.  A  bumper ! 
Omnes.  The  King ! ! ! 


Ensign  Odoherty. 
The  King  !     God  bless  him ! 
\Three  times  three.      Triimpets  without. 
Air — God  save  the  King.'\ 
Tickler.  A  bumper — the  Kirk  of  Scotland ! 

Omnes.  The  Kirk  of  Scotland !   \^Air — The  Bush  aboon  Traquair.] 
Bev.  Dr.  Wodrow.  Gentlemen,  all  your  very  good  healths !     I  am 
extremely  sensible  of  the  honor  you  have  done  — 

North.  — A  bumper !     "  The  general  joy  of  the  whole  table !" 
Odoherty.  (^5io?e.)  Vide  Shakspeare!  hem! 
Omnes.  The  General  joy,  &c.     {Three  times  three.) 

{Air,  we  are  the  Lads,  <&c. 


1822.]  PEKSOKALITIES.  179 

North.  Now,  gentlemen,  these  three  bumpers  being  discussed,  I 
leave  the  filling  of  your  glasses  to  your  own  discretion. 

Odoherty.  Let  each  man  fill  his  neighbor's  glass,  and  push  the  port 
and  sherry  into  the  middle  of  the  table.  Mr.  Chairman,  give  Sir 
Andrew  a  little  drop ;  I'm  sure  he'll  do  as  much  for  the  Reverend 
Doctor  on  his  right. 

Sir.  A.  Wylie.  Na,  wha  ever  heard  o'  sic  like  doings  as  this !  and 
me  a  ruling  Elder  too !  Oh  dear,  you  literary  men  are  the  most  un- 
conscionable chields  I  ever  foregathered  wi' — but  to  be  sure  it's  ill  to 
make  a  silk  purse  out  of  a  sow's  lug. 

Dr.  Scott  Hear  till  him !  Would  any  body  think  the  Baronet  had 
lived  sa  mony  years  out  of  his  ain  country,  and  been  in  high  life  too, 
Lord  preserve  us, — (I  beg  your  pardon.  Dr.  Wodrow,  it  just  slipped 
frae  the  tongue,  man)^and  kittled  ladies  of  quality  in  his  time — and 
crackit  a  bottle  with  Mr.  Pitt  himself— an'  a'  the  lave  o'f?  Ane 
that  did  not  ken  the  history,  would,  saving  his  presence,  just  take 
him  for  some  Paisley  baillie,  that  had  never  had  the  stink  of  the 
Sneddon  out  of  his  nostrils  ! 

North.  Mr.  Odontist,  I  disapprove  of  personalities. 

Dr.  Scott.  Hout !  Like  the  Duke  of  Bedford,  I  meant  nothing  per- 
sonal, upon  my  honor. 

Sir  A.  Wylie.  Dr.  Scott  having  in  the  handsomest  manner  de- 
clared that  he  meant  no  allusion  to  me  personally,  I  am  now  per- 
fectly satisfied.     Fill  your  glass.  Dr.  Scott. 

Rev.  Dr.  Wodrow.  That  puts  me  in  mind  of  a  story  of  Mr.  Tham 
of  Govan — a  queer  fellow — but  sound,  very  sound  in  his  doctrine. 
He  had  been  rebuking  a  young  lad  and  lassie  one  day  in  his  kirk, 
and  he  had  in  his  rough  way,  (for  Tham  was  a  very  rough  brother, 
sirs,)  gone  a  great  length  in  miscalling  the  lad ;  and  as  they  were  a' 
coming  out  of  the  kirk,  the  lad  he  came  down  from  the  cutty-stool 
and  runs  up  to  the  minister,  and  says  he,  "  I  dinna  ken  what  you 
meant  by  yon  blackguard  language  about  me.  I  think  you're  ex- 
ceedingly impertinent,  Mr.  Tham."  And  wi'  that  Mr.  Tham  up  with 
his  stick,  (he  had  aye  a  good  bit  sapling  in  his  hand,)  and  comes  a 
clink  o'er  the  chield's  head,  and  gar'd  him  reel  away  back,  and  he  fell 
on  the  braid  o'  his  back  among  the  dirt, — hee  !  hee !  hee  ! 

Dr.  Scott.  A  bonny  parallel,  my  certy  ! 

Feldborg,  When  Baggesen  and  Oehlenschlaeger  first  began  to 
write  pamphlets  concerning  each  other — Ay,  what  pamphlets  Bag- 
gesen does  make ! — there  was  some  talk  of  their  fighting  with  the 
sword, — and  to  be  sure  they  went  one  day  into  Hamlet's  Garden 
what  we  call,  and  they  drew  their  swords  so  bright,  so  clear,  and  up 
comes  I  by  accident,  and  says  I,  "  What  fools  you  are,  let  us  go  dine 
all  together  at  the  White  Eeather."  This  is  a  great  inn,  what  you 
call,  in  Elsinore. 


180  NOCTES   AMBROSIAN^.  [May, 

North.  And  did  you  go,  accordingly'? 

Feldborg.  Oh,  what  for  a  dinner  we  did  eat  that  day!  At  the 
head  of  the  table  was  a  sausage-pie. — O,  what  for  a  pie !  and  at  the 
foot  there  was  a  boiled  goose  with  mustard  pudding ;  and  there  was 
one  dozen  big  black  bottles  of  the  best  beer,  and  how  we  did  rejoice ! 
—Oh,  me ! 

Pe7i  Owen.  {Aside  to  Odoherty.) — Noctes  Coenasque  Deum. 

Odoherty.  {Aside  to  Pen  Owen.) — jNoctes  Coenasque  de  hum. 

Pen  Owen.  Pray,  Dr.  Scott,  what  is  that  book  called  the  Percy 
Anecdotes  % — I  saw  it  in  a  window  at  York  as  I  came  through,  and 
bought  it  to  divert  us  in  the  chaise,  and  I  can  make  very  little  mean- 
ing of  it,  although  it  is  an  amusing  production  enough  in  its  way.* 

Dr.  Scott.  I  only  possess  two  or  three  numbers  of  the  work ; 
there's  one  of  them  called  "  Anecdotes  of  Instinct,  with  a  portrait  of 
the  Ettrick  Shepherd ;"  I  was  much  amused  with  it. 

Pe?i  Owen.  Yes;  but  why  Anecdotes  of  I^istinct  with  a  Portrait  of 
Hogg? — Do  they  mean  to  represent  Hogg  as  being  totally  devoid  of 
Reason? — A  mere  new  edition  o^  the  Learned  Pig? 

Dr.  Scott.  It  did  not  strike  me  before ;  but  now  you  point  it  out, 
'tis  absurd.  Then  there's  one,  "  Anecdotes  of  Genius^  with  a  portrait 
of  Mr.  Souihey ;''"'  and,  immediately  after,  comes  another,  "Anecdotes 
of  Crime  and  Punishment^  with  a  portrait  of  Sir  James  Mackintosh." 
Now,  I  for  one,  can  make  neither  head  nor  tail  of  this. 

Pen  Owen.  Do  you  suppose  they  mean  to  insinuate  that  Sir  James 
stands  in  the  same  relation  to  Crime  and  Punishment  in  which  Southey 
stands  to  Genius  %  If  so,  what  has  been  the  learned  knight's  crime  1 
What  has  been  his  punishment  1 

Tickler.  What  say  you.  Sir  Andrew  ? 

Sir  A.  Wylie.  I  suppose  they  mean  to  let  us  to  wit,  that  Sir  James 
Mackintosh  is  above  Crime  and  Punishment,  just  as  the  Poet  Hogg 
is  above  Instinct  ^f 

Rev.  Dr.  Wodrow.  Good,  very  good,  I'm  clear  for  Sir  Andrew's 
way  of  expounding  the  dubiety,  'tis  like  Lucus  a  non  lucendo — ehem ! 

Odoherty.  (Sings.) 

This  is  the  wine 
That  in  former  time 
Each  wise  one  of  the  Magi 
Was  wont  to  carouse 
In  a  frolicsome  bowse. 
Recubans  sub  tegmhie  fagi 

•  It  -was  ptiblislied  in  London.  It  was  neatly  illustrated.  It  formed  a  series  of  40  numbers, 
or  20  duodecimo  volumes.  It  professed  to  consist  of  "  Anecdotes,  original  and  select,  by  Sholto 
and  Reuben  Percy,  brothers  of  the  Benedictine  Monastery,  Mont  Benger." — Sholto,  being  a 
Mr.  Robertson,  for  many  years  editor  of  the  Mechanics^  Magazine  and  the  Railway  Record 
newspaper. — M. 

t  The  actual  reason  why  a  portrait  of  Sir  James  Mackintosh  illustrated  the  volume  on  Crime 
and  Punishment,  may  be  traced  to  the  fact,  that  Sir  James  had  been  a  Judge  in  India,  and,  as 
a  member  of  Parliament,  had  endeavored  to  mitigate  the  severity  of  the  English  penal  code. 
-M. 


1822.]  TICEXER's   BEIDAI.   SONG.  181 

Mr.  North,  you're  keeping  the  bottle  rather  long  by  you. 

North.  Well,  Odoherty,  smce  your  pipe  is  so  clear,  suppose  you 
do  sing  us  another  song — and  if  it  be  one  of  your  own,  so  much  the 
better  for  Dr.  Wodrow. 

Odoherty.  Well, — since  you  will  have  it,  I  shall  tip  you  what  I 
wrote  last  month,  on  the  interesting  occasion  of  the  marriage  of  Mr. 
Timothy  Tickler,  if  you  know  any  such  person. 

North.  You're  quizzing,  Odoherty — Sing,  but  remember,  that  I 
depend  upon  your  good  feelings,  to  introduce  nothing  that  could  call 
up  a  blush  on  the  delicate  cheek  of  Mrs.  Tickler,  if  she  were 
present. 

Tickler.  Delicate  cheek!  hem, — 

"  0  call  it  fair,  not  pale  !" 
Odoherty.  (Sings.) 

SONG. 

ON   THE   WEDDING-DAY   OF   TIMOTHY  TICKLER,    ESQ.,   AND 
MISS   AMARANTHA   ALOESBUD. 

1. 

Fill,  fill  to  the  brim,  fill  a  bumper  to  him. 

Who  is  eall'd  to  a  happier  duty  away, 
Who,  seated  beside  his  own  loved  one — his  bride — 

Drinks  large  draughts  of  joy  from  her  eyes'  sunny  ray; 
And  let  not  the  toast  to  the  man  we  love  most, 

Be  silently  pass'd  round  the  board  as  we  sit ; 
But  rising  about,  with  a  heart-stirring  shout. 

Let  us  hail  the  dear  union  of  Beauty  and  Wit. 


Though,  perhaps,  now  no  more,  shall  our  friend,  as  before. 

Join  his  bachelor  mates  in  their  frolicsome  knot ; 
Nor  pour  forth  his  soul  over  bottle  and  bowl, 

That  soul  free  from  taint  of  dishonoring  thought ; 
Though  that  eloquent  tongue  upon  which  we  have  hung 

So  oft  with  delight,  may  no  more  glad  us  here ; 
Yet  still  his  loved  name  a  full  bumper  shall  claim. 

And  it  still  shall  be  hail'd  with  a  thrice  given  cheer. 


0,  blest  be  this  day,  by  the  smile  of  the  gay. 

By  the  bright  eyes  of  beauty,  by  music  and  dance ! 
O,  blest  be  this  day — and  as  life  wears  away, 

May  he  joy  on  its  moments  his  thoughts  back  to  glance  ! 
May  the  maid,  whose  bright  charms  are  resign'd  to  his  arms, 

Still  be  loved  with  the  love  that  he  feels  for  her  now  I 
And  may  her  dear  lord  be  by  her  still  adored, 

As  when  first  she  lisp'd  forth  the  unchangeable  vow. 


1S2  NOCTES   AMBKOSIANtE.  [May, 


Then  fill  to  the  brim,  fill  a  bumper  to  him, 

Who  is  called  to  a  happier  duty  away, 
Who,  seated  beside  his  own  loved  one — his  bride — 

Drinks  large  draughts  of  joy  fi'om  her  eyes'  sunny  ray : 
And  let  not  the  toast  to  the  man  we  love  most 

Be  silently  pass'd  round  the  board  as  we  sit; 
But  rising  about,  with  a  heart-stirring  shout, 

Let  us  hail  the  dear  union  of  Beauty  and  Wit ! 

D.  Scott.   [Siyiging.) 

"  Let  us  hail  the  dear  union  of  Beauty  and  Wit." 

Devilish  good  song,  upon  my  honor,  Mr.  North,  I  crave  a  bumper 
— Mrs.  Tickler,  with  three  times  three. 

Rev.  Br.  Wodroiv.  Cheers  or  children,  Dr.  Scott  ?  ha !  ha !  ha ! 
the  like  o'  that !  (  Trumpets  without.) 

Omnes.  Mrs.  Tickler!      [Air — Green  grow  the  rashes.,  0.] 

Mr.  Pen  Owen.  (Aside  to  Odoherty.)  They're  getting  dull  at 
that  end  of  the  table.     May  I  tip  them  a  touch  of  the  long  pole? 

Odoherty.  {Aside  to  Pen  Owen.)  To  be  sure,  honey  !  Where's 
Liberty -hall,  think  ye?     Plant  the  prong! 

Pen  Owen.  Mr.  North,  with  your  permission,  and  with  the  per- 
mission of  the  distinguished  company,  whom  I  have  now  the  honor 
of  seeing  assembled  around  this  festive  board,  there  is  a  name  which 
I  would  earnestly  but  respectfully  entreat  permission  to  join  with 
the  smack  of  a  bumper. 

North.  Contributors,  a  bumper,  Mr.  Pendarves  Owen's  toast. 

Pen  Owen.  I  beg  leave  to  propose  the  health  of  The  Small 
Known. 

North.  Gentlemen,  this  is  an  appeal  to  your  liberality,  and  I  am 
sure  your  conduct  will  justify  it.     Take  the  time  from  me. 

Omnes.  The  Small  Known  ! ! !  !  !  !  ! !  1 

( Trumpets  without — Air — Saw  ye  my  wee  thing  ?) 

Sir  A.  Wylie,  (aside  to  Br.  Wodrow.)  We've  all  heard  enough  of 
the  Great  Unknown,  but  wha  is  this  we've  been   drinking,  Doctor  1 

Rev.  Br.  Wodrow.  Dr.  Cook,  I  take  it. 

North.  Pooh,  pooh,  'tis  our  friend,  the  Prince  of  Reviewers,  Sir 
Andrew. 

Br.  Wodrow.  The  like  o'  that — ha!  ha!  The  Small  Known! 
well,  I  never  heard  sic  like  toasts  !  I'se  propose  it  myself  at  the 
Moderate  Club,  the  morn's  night, — may  I  ? 

North.  By  all  means.  A  toast  is  nothing  until  it  comes  into 
general  vogue,  like  The  Cause  for  which  Sidney  bled  on  the  Scaffold., 
and  Hampden  on  the  Jleld,  (&c. 

Pen  Owen.  Which  is   pretty  much  the    same   thing  with    "the 


1822.] 


THE   SMALL   KNOWN.  183 


Cause  for  which  Sandt  died  by  the  axe,  and  Thistlewood  by  the 
drop." 

Odoherty.  I  beg  leave  to  propose  a  bumper,  Mr.  Chairman, — To 
the  memory  of  Thistlewood  !  !  ! 

Professor  Feldborg^  {aside  to  Dr.  Scott.)  What  man  was  Thistle- 
wood 1     Was  he  a  Tory  Reviewer  1 

Dr.  Scott.  Ask  your  friend  Mr.  Owen.  I  think  he's  like  to  give 
you  the  best  notion.* 

Pen  Owen.  Come,  come !  you  should  not  make  such  allusions,  Mr. 
Odoherty.  I'm  sure  you  will  admit  that  I  was  most  innocently  pre- 
sent on  that  unfortunate  occasion,  when  Thistlewood  — 

Odoherty.  I  could  have  forgiven  any  thing  but  that  humbugging 
note,  in  which  you,  or  whoever  did  your  history,  says  the  chapter 
about  that  affair  was  writ  before  the  affair  happened. 

Pen  Owen.  'Pon  honor  it  was. 

Odoherty.  Nay,  nay,  man  ;  a  joke's  a  joke — but  do  you  mean  to 
say,  that  you  thought  of  that  quotation  about  "  Cato's  little  senate," 
before  the  night  you  made  your  famous  leap  over  the  little  back 
court  behind  Cato-street. 

Pen  Owen.  What  do  you  believe,  Mr.  Odoherty  % 

Odoherty.  I  believe  that  any  man  may  with  impunity,  (so  far  as  a 
certain  concern  goes,)  touch  the  King, — abuse  the  Lords, — black- 
guard the  Commons, — and  ruffianize  the  prime  writers  of  the  age 
and  country ;  but  that  vengeance  will  fall  on  his  head  if  he  dares  but 
to  lay -his  little  finger  on  the  smallest  of  Critics. 

Feldborg.  What  1  call  Baggesen  the  smallest  of  critics  %  What 
for  a  joke  !  Baggesen'?  He  that  did  compose  the  glorious  garland? 
Oh,  what  ignorance ! 

Odoherty.  I  meant  not  Baggesen — I  talked  of  Jeffrey.  Clap  not 
thy  wings  so  fiercely.  Cock  of  the  North. 

Sir  A.  Wylie.  What  1  aye  at  the  Sma' Known  *?  Will  you  never 
be  done  with  your  personalities  about  that  gentleman? 

Tickler.  Fie,  Odoherty  !  And  after  that  beautiful  rebuke  of  his, 
in  his  last  number,  which,  I  am  sure,  will  shut  Lord  Byron's  mouth 
for  ever  and  a  day. 

Odoherty.  As  effectually  as  a  prime  pouldoodie  of  Burranf  would 
shut  my  potato-trap  for  three  seconds. 

•  Arthur  Thistlewood,  who  had  previously  teen  acquitted  on  a  charge  of  treason,  and  was 
discontented  with  the  British  Government,  threw  himself  into  what  was  called  the  Cato-street 
Conspiracy,  and  conspired  to  murder  the  Ministry,  at  a  Cabinet-dinner  at  Lord  Harrowby's,  and 
thereon  raise  an  insurrection  in  London.  This  was  early  in  1820,  immediately  on  the  accession 
of  George  IV.,  and  a  spy  having  revealed  all  that  was  done  and  intended,  a  party  of  police  and 
soldiers  went  to  arrest  the  conspirators.  Thistlewood  resisted,  killed  one  of  the  police  with  a 
sword,  escaped,  was  captured,  tried,  and  condemned.  Thistlewood  and  four  others  were  ex- 
ecuted, as  traitors,  on  May  1,  1820. — One  of  the  scenes  in  "  Pen  Owen"  was  marvellously  like 
the  actual  scene  in  Cato-street. 

t  The  Pouldoodiesof  Burran  were  a  description  of  Irish  oysters,  anent  which,  Mrs.  M'Whirter 
chanted  a  laudatory  song,  in  presence  of  Christopher  in  the  Tent,  which  see,  a7^^e.— M. 


184  NOCTES   AMBROSIAKJE.  [May, 

Br.  Wodrow.  Well,  now,  I  must  say  that  I  read  that  passage  with 
delight ;  there  is  no  doubt  that  Lord  Byron  is  very  much  to  blame, 
if  it  really  be  so,  which  I  am  no  judge  of,  that  he  was  the  first  who 
wrote  in  a  personal  manner.  It 'was  introducing  a  dangerous — a 
deadly  trick.  There's  no  saying  where  it  may  end  yet.  Christian 
folk  should  dwell  together  like  brethren  in  unity.  Oh  !  sirs,  there's 
a  deal  of  needless  heart-burning  and  hot  water  among  you  literary 
folk  of  this  time,  take  ye  my  word  for  that. 

Dr.  Scott.  Ay,  and  so  is  there  among  the  illiterary  folk  of  this 
time,  Dr.  Wodrow — what  say  ye  to  your  bickers  in  the  aisle^  oure 
bye  yonder?  My  faith!  you  ministers  and  elders,  ye're  the  most 
tinkler-tongued  pack  of  illiterati,  when  ye  begin  your  collieshangie. 

Sir  A.  Wylie.  Come,  come,  Odondist,  you  need  not  be  so  bitter, 
though  you  could  not  manage  to  get  yourself  returned  for  the  Uni- 
versity of  St.  Andrews  this  Assembly — but  what  is  all  this  that  you're 
saying  ?  Does  Mr.  Jeffrey  really  charge  Lord  Byron  with  being  the 
author  and  institutor  of  the  sin  of  personality  % 

Tickler.  "  'Tis  true,  'tis  pity;  and  pity  'tis,  'tis  true." 

Dr.  Scott.,  {closely  imitating  Tickler  in  enunciation.^  'Tis  trash, 'tis 
certain ;  and  certain  'tis,  'tis  trash. 

Pen  Owen.  I  have  not  yet  seen  the  last  Number  of  the  Edinburgh 
burgh  Review — but  if  the  Small  Known  has  said  so,  he  has  certainly 
not  a  large  memory. 

Tickler.  Alarf,  he  will  never  have  such  a  memory  as  Smithers ! 

Pen  Owen.  But  I'm  speaking  in  earnest.  What,  sir"?  Has  Jefii-ey 
forgot  that  he  could  once  read  without  spectacles  %  Has  he  forgot 
that  he  was  not  always  a  dandy  of  sixty  1  Has  he  forgot  how,  from 
the  beginning  of  his  career,  he  abused  Southey  %  Has  he  forgot  how 
he  lashed  his  friend,  Tommy  Moore  ?  Was  it  not  personality  that 
pointed  the  path  to  Chalk  Farm?  Has  he  forgot  Thelwall?  Was 
there  no  personality  in  calling  Thelwall  a  Tailor  ?  Was  there  no 
personality  in  his  attacks  on  Coppleston  ?  Was  there  no  per- 
sonality in  comparing  Mr.  Davison  to  a  rat  in  a  gutter?  Was 
there  no  personality  in  the  lucubrations,  concerning  that  patriotic, 
that  most  enlightened  Peer,  my  Lord  Elgin  %  Was  there  no  person- 
ality in  that  most  flagitious  insinuation  concerning  the  birth  of  our 
late  venerable  venerated  Sovereign  ?^     Bah  ! — 

North.  Take  your  breath,  young  sir,  and  fill  a  bumper.  The  bottle 
is  with  you,  and  we  would  rather  be  excused  waiting  till  you  have 
done  with  such  a  catalogue  as  this. 

Sir  A.  Wylie.  I  would  be  very  sorry  to  interrupt  Mr.  Owen,  but 
I  would  fain  ask  one  question,  for  really  and  truly,  sir,  I'm  to  seek 

*  One  of  the  scandals  of  the  last  century  was,  that  George  III.  was  son — not  of  Frederic 
Prince  of  Wales,  but  of  the  Earl  of  Bute.  It  was  the  influence  of  the  Princess  of  Wales  (Fre- 
deric's widow)  that  placed  Lord  Bute  in  the  high  offitfe  of  Premier,  (for  which  he  was  by  no 
means  adequate)  shortly  after  George  III.  became  king. — M. 


1822.]  PERSON- ALITT.  185 

in  sic  matters.     Did  Lord  Byron  ever  write  any  thing  personal  about 
Mr.  Jeffrey  himsELF'? 

Tickler .  Bravo  !  bravissimo  !  Rem  acu  tetigisti ! 

Odoherty.  [Sings.) 

"  Vaia  is  every  fond  endeavor 

To  resist  the  gentle  dart ; 
For  examples  move  us  never, 

We  must  feel  to  know  the  smart." 
When  the  bard,  in  verse  undying, 

Pays  the  Prose  of  tlie  Review, 
Vanity,  her  aid  supplying, 

Bids  them  think  it  not  their  due. 
Chorus — Vanity,  her  sting  supplying, 

Pokes  the  Yellow  and  the  Blue. 

North.  Thank  ye,  Adjutant!  But  now  there's  been  so  much 
fighting  about  the  bush,  let's  to  the  scratch  with  it  at  once.  Mr. 
Pendarves  Owen,  what  do  you  understand  by  the  word  Personality? 

Pen  Owen.  I  don't  know — I  can't  well  say.  I  suppose  Jeffrey 
means,  when  he  accuses  Lord  Byron  of  it,  to  allude  to  his  cuts  at 
Coleridge,  and  Southey,  and  Sotheby,  and  Wordsworth,  and  Bowles, 
and  Sam  Rogers,  and  the  King,  and  so  forth. 

North.  Sir,  did  you  ever  read  a  poem  called  "  English  Bards,  and 
Scotch  Reviewers  1" 

Pe7i  Owen.  I  remember  seeing  such  a  thing  in  Mr.  Mapletoft's 
library  long  ago,  and  glancing  over  it ;  but  at  that  time  I  was  young 
and  ignorant,  and  took  no  interest  in  it.  I  understood  very  little 
about  what  was  meant  or  insinuated. 

North.  Very  likely ;  but  still  you  can't  have  forgot  the  two  great 
and  general  facts,  that  this  poem  was  written  by  Lord  Byron,  and 
that  it  contains  many  most  bitter  pungent  lines  of  personal  satire 
against  Hallam,  Pillans,  &c.,  and  least  not  last,  against  Mr.  Francis 
Jeffrey  himself,  whose  birth  is  ridiculed,  whose  person  is  derided, 
whose  genius  is  scorned,  whose  personal  honor  and  courage  even 
held  up  to  utter  and  open  contempt,  and  all  this  in  a  manner  equally 
unmerited — unparalleled  — 

Tickler.   [Interrupts  him.)  And  unpardoned. 

North.  Ay,  there's  the  rub  !  Look  ye,  it  would  take  a  bat  not  to 
see  through  the  whole  of  this  mighty  millstone.  The  Edinburgh 
Reviewers  (Jeffrey  himself,  'tis  generally  supposed,*)  began  the  row 
with  a  violent  attack  on  Lord  Byron's  juvenile  poems,  in  a  review, 
in  the  conclusion  of  which  there  is  certainly  not  a  little  personality. 
This  is  done  in  utter  ignorance  of  Lord  Byron's  talents,  in  utter  con- 
tempt of  him,  and  all  that  pertains  to  him.  Very  well.  Lord  Byron 
writes  and  publishes  the  poetical  satire  of  which  we  have  been  speak- 

*  Brougham  is  generally  supposed  to  have  written  the  article. — M. 


186  NOCTES   AMBROSIAK^.  [May, 

ing,  and  the  Edinburgh  Eeviewers  are  laughed  at  for  several  weeks 
all  over  England,  Ireland,  Scotland,  and  the  town  of  Berwick-upon- 
Tweed,  to  say  nothing  of  Yankeeland  and  Botany  Bay.  So  far  so 
well.  But  in  a  few  years,  out  comes  Childe  Harold,  and  Lord 
Byron  is  at  once  placed  nem.  con.  by  the  side  of  the  first  poets  of  our 
age.  What  a  moment  of  mortification  must  that  have  been,  when 
Mr.  Francis  Jeflfrey  first  discovered  whom  he  had  .to  do  with !  Why, 
did  you  ever  see  a  little  slim  greyhound,  half  the  Surrey  breed  per- 
haps, attack  a  strong  Yorkshire  fox  who  had  jumped  up  from  the 
cover,  when  they  were  whipping  for  hares  ?  Jeffrey  was  just  in  such 
a  quandary.  Down  he  goes  on  his  knees,  and  worships  the  rising 
star.  Puff!  puff!  puff! — nothing  but  puffing! — nothing  but  who 
shall  puff  the  highest. 

Sir  A.  Wylie.  Under  favor,  ye're  forgetting  to  mention  that  Lord 
Byron  had  been  putting  himself  forrit  as  a  Whig  also. 

North.  True — but  I  don't  make  much  of  that  in  this  particular 
instance.  Lord  Byron,  however,  does  not  intimate  any  particular 
sensibility  in  his  olfactory  nerves,  to  the  stimulus  of  the  Blue  and 
Yellow  incense. 

Tickler.  Censer  and  censure,  sir,  canie  alike  to  him ; — he  was 
incensed  by  their  very  incense. 

Dr.  Scott.  He  became  quite  the  rage  with  them ;  yet  his  rage 
waxeth  not  cool,  neither  was  his  anger  appeased. 

Dr.   Wodrow.  O,  that  Chaldee !  it  has  spoiled  even  the  Odontist. 

North.  On  proceeds  "  Byron  my  Baron,"  meantime,  in  his  glorious, 
but  not  stainless,  any  more  than  gainless  career.  The  critics  of  the 
English  press  in  general  applaud,  as  they  ought  to  do,  his  rising  and 
resplendent  genius  ;  but  many,  very  many  of  them,  at  least,  have  the 
candor  and  the  justice  to  complain  of  the  immoral,  irreligious,  and 
unpatriotic  tendency  of  too  many  of  his  productions.  Two  only,  and 
these  the  two  highest  authorities,  are  silent  as  to  the  faults  of  the 
splendid  sinner.  The  Quarterly  Cerberus  had  got  a  sop — and  as  for 
the  Edinburgh,  what  think  ye  kept  its  mouth  mum  1 

Odoherty.  Could  it  be  our  old  acquaintance,  "  Corporal  Fear'?" 

Tickler.  I  am  inspired.  AnchHo  imj^rovisatore.  I  shall  tip  you  an 
extempore  Parody  on  one  of  Mrs.  Pilkington's  old  favorites.  i^Aside) 
— You  all  remember  "  Stella,  darling  of  the  Miises." 

Jeffrey,  darling  of  the  Muses, 
Strong  probation  now  we  bring ; 

Knowingly,  the  poet  chooses, 
Who  of  thee  essays  to  sing. 

While  his  keen  derision  traces 
Every  fault  of  form  or  mind, 

He  gets  on  in  thy  good  graces- 
Stings,  but  leaves  no  wound  behind, 

{Flaudite  Omnes.) 


1822.]  JEFFREY   AND   BTEOJST.  187 

Omnes  [sing.) 

"  Very  good  song, 
Very  "well  sung, 
Jolly  companions  every  one,"  &q.  &e.  &q. 

Rev,  Dr.  Wodrow.  Well,  I  never  was  in  such  a  company  as  this 
since  I  was  ordained.  Why  it  beats  Presbytery,  dinners,  Modera- 
tor's breakfasts,  and  even  settlement-occasions,  a'  to  nothing.  The 
mist's  just  clearing  away  from  my  eyes  every  moment !  How  I'll 
enlighten  the  Baillies  when  I  win  back  to  the  Manse. 

Dr.  Scott.  Haud  your  tongues  !  Haud  your  tongues  !  Do  ye  no 
see  how  the  chairman's  drinking  three  bumpers  all  by  himsel '? 
[Aside) — He's  clearing  his  pipes,  I'se  warrant.  Od,  how  he's  glow- 
ering on  yon  decanter ! 

North.  Revenons  a  nos  movtons!  Childe  Harold  raved  with  im- 
punity against  Talavera,  Wellington,  and  the  Bible.  Lord  Byron 
insulted  with  impunity  the  most  complete  gentleman  that  has  sat  on 
the  English  throne  since  the  time  of  Charles  I.,  and  this  too  in  the 
most  offensive  way.  Pie  insulted  his  Prince  by  meddling  with  his 
domestic  affairs — Lord  Byron  insulted  all  England  in  Beppo — 
Beppo  was  lauded — He  flung  the  insults  with  tenfold  vigor  from 
the  luscious  lip  of  Don  Juan — Don  Juan  was  never  alluded  to,  except 
once  or  twice,  in  the  way  of  commending  its  style — and  even  so  it 
goes  on,  until  at  length,  after  five  or  six  years  of  silence,  and  utter 
forbearance,  the  Edinburgh  Review  does  pluck  up  courage — and  to 
do  what? 

0 nines.  What  1 

North.  To  say  feebly  what  had  been  said  strongly  by  fifty  other 
people — to  say  late  what  should  have  been  said  early,  or  never  said 
at  all — to  creep  out  under  the  shadow,  and  in  the  rear  of  Universal- 
Indignation — and,  making  a  big  mouth,  stammer  out  a  single,  silly, 
senile,  insignificant  sarcasm! — [Hear  !  hear!) 

Odoherty.  It  puts  me  in  mind  of  a  thing  I  once  saw  at  Doncas- 
ter. — I  was  sitting  in  the  inn  there  with  the  landlady — a  pretty, 
comely  body,  I  assure  ye — and  through  came  Reynard,  and  all  Lord 
Darlington's  hounds  in  full  cry  at  his  tail.  A  little  puppy  dog — a 
queer,  odd,  grim-looking  thing  belonging  to  the  landlady,  was  sitting 
close  beside  us,  on  the  end  of  the  sofa.  It  stared  like  a  stuck  pig, 
till  the  last  red-coat  was  passing,  and  then  out  with  a  small  frightened 
snarl— I  thought  at  first  it  had  smelt  a  mouse  behind  the  wainscot. 

Dr.  Scott.  Mr.  North,  this  is  very  good  claret — I  make  no  objec- 
tions to  the  claret — but  really  I  cannot  thole  it,  it  is  so  very  cold. 

[Sings) — Fill  me  a  bowl — a  mighty  bowl, 
Large  as  my  capacious  soul, 
Vast  as  my  thirst  is  ;  let  it  have 
Depth  enough  to  be  my  grave — 


188  NOCTES    AMBROSTAN.E.  [May, 

I  mean  the  grave  of  all  my  care, 
For  I  iutend  to  bury't  there. 
Let  it  a  bowl  of  China  be, 
Worthy  of  punch  composed  by  me, 
To  drown  pale  cant  and  fat  humbug, 
And  stretch  a  Tory  on  the  rug. 

Fill  me  a  bowl,  &c.  [Enter  Punch.] 

North.  Tip  us  a  blast  of  the  trombone,  or  the  Gaelic  sermon,  or 
any  thing  you  like — Do  make  yourself  agreeable. 

Odolierty.  The  Instrumentality  or  the  Parsonality  ? — Both  are  at 
your  service. 

Omnes.  The  Parsonality  !  the  Parsonality ! 

\_Odoherty  gives  a  fac  simile  of  a  Gaelic  sermon.      While  he  is 
performing^  exit.,  unobserved,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Wodrow.] 

North.  What!  bless  me  the  minister's  off,  I  think. 

Sir  A.  Wylie.  Ay,  ay,  just  gang  round  the  company.  Rub  every 
one's  shins,  and  ye'll  have  a  toom  table  belyve.  I'se  warrant  the 
Doctor  will  be  concocting  an  overture  against  personality,  ere  lang  be. 

Peji  Owen.  What!  the  reverend  divine  could  not  stand  that  little 
shadow  of  a  shade  of  personality  1  Bah  !  if  he  had  been  an  Edin- 
burgh Reviewer,  he  would  have  been  as  tender  in  the  skin  as  any 
Small  Known  among  them  all. 

North.  Heaven  preserve  us  !  I  believe  nothing  will  put  down 
this  accursed  cant  but  a  thumping  folio  disquisition.  I  shall  cer- 
tainly, when  I  die,  bequeath  to  the  world  a  regular  treatise  de  re 
personali. 

Tickler.  Proving  that  every  person  had  been  personal,  as  well  as 
Byron  and  Jeffrey  *? 

North.  To  be  sure — To  begin  with  the  blind  old  Mseonian — Does 
any  body  doubt  his  Thersites  is  a  lump  of  personality'?  Without 
question,  Polyphemus  was  a  sore  wipe  against  some  purblind, 
bloody-minded  reviewer  of  his  day.  But  why  talk  of  Homer  ? 
Has  not  the  Stagyrite  told  us  that  his  last  poem,  the  Margites,  stood 
to  the  old  Greek  Comedy  in  the  same  relation  in  which  the  Iliad 
and  Odyssey  did  to  the  old  Greek  Tragedy  ? — And  what  was  the 
old  Greek  Comedy  % 

Pen  Owen.  "  Comoedia  prisca  virorum  est !" 

North.  True !  'tis  a  manly  comedy ;  but  what  is  it  but  a  string 
of  personalities  %  There  is  not  one  line  in  all  Aristophanes  that  is 
not  personal. 

Pen  Oiven.  Aristophanes  was,  I  suppose,  just  what  Jeffrey  says 
Swift  was,  "  nothing  but  a  great  libeller." 

North.  Yes,  and  yet  you  see  this  same  critic,  who,  four  years  ago, 
said  "  Swift  was  nothing  but  a  great  libeller,"  has  now  thought  proper 
to  say  that  personality  was  a  thing  unknown  until  Lord  Byron  set 
the  example. 


1822.]  LITERARY   PERSONALITIES.  189 

Pen  Owen.  It  looks  like  a  contradiction — but  go  on  with  your 
sketch  of  the  great  treatise  in  posse,  however. 

North.  Is  Horace  not  personal  in  his  satires  ?  He  is  so  in  every 
line  of  them,  and  in  half  his  odes  to  boot.  Was  not  Virgil  abomina- 
bly personal  about  the  old  soldier  that  got  his  bonnet-lairdship  1  Is 
there  no  personality  in  Cicero's  Philippics,  or  in  his  master,  Demos- 
thenes ?  or  in  Sallusf?  or  in  Tacitus'?  By  Jupiter  Tonans,  you 
might  as  well  say  that  Jeffrey  had  began  the  sin  of  charlatanism  as 
that  any  man  now  living  began  that  of  personality. 

Sir  A.  Wylie.  Weel,  weel,  but  I  would  like  to  hear  ye  on  some 
authors  that  we  hae  heard  mair  about  than  thae  auld  heathen  Greeks 
and  Romans. 

North.  Swift  we  have  already  heard  of.  You  know  Shakspeare 
owed  his  rise  in  life  and  letters  to  a  song  which  he  wrote  against  a 
Warwickshire  Justice  of  the  Peace.  And  Justice  Shallow  is  alto- 
gether a  personal  attack  on  the  same  worthy  body.  Ben  Jonson 
was  a  perfect  Turk  for  personality — his  whole  life  was  past  in  hot 
water. —  Vide  D 'Israeli ! — Why  should  I  allude  to  the  Greens  and 
the  Nashes  1 

Tickler.  These  fellows  were  always  at  cat  and  dog — quite  more 
recentiorum. 

North.  Nay,  nay,  forbid  that  we  should  be  quite  so  bad  as  that 
cetas  avorum!  I  would  rather  die  upon  a  pile  of  blazing  Magazines, 
like  Sardanapalus  on  his  throne,  than  write  one  word  within  one 
million  of  miles  of  the  personalities  of  Milton — the  divine  Milton — 
against  Salmasius ! 

Br.  Scott.  Keep  us  a'!  Is  that  the  same  great  gospel-gun  that 
wrote  the  Paradise  Lost, that  the  Spectautor  speaks  sae  muckle  about? 

Pen  Owen.  The  same,  the  same.  Bah !  'tis  all  fudge,  and  fudge 
fusty— as  fusty  as  Benthamism. 

North.  Come  down  to  the  polite  era  of  Charles  II.  Is  there  no 
personality  in  Dryden  ?  or  rather,  is  there  any  thing  else  in  half  his 
most  eternal  master-pieces'?  Is  there  no  personality  in  Butler's 
Hudibras,  nor  in  Cowley's  Cutter  of  Coleman-street  %  Or  take  the 
glorious  days  of  Queen  Anne.  There's  Swift  for  one,  and  there's 
Pope.  I  suppose  we've  all  heard  of  such  a  thing  as  the  Dunciad. 
There's  one  Arbuthnot  too — he  wrote  a  work  called  the  History  of 
Joh7i  Bull — that  is  commonly  supposed  to  be  something  personal,  I 
believe. 

Dr.  Scott.  As  bad  as  the  present  John  Bull'? 

North.  Yes,  very  truly,  nearly  as  bad,  and  indeed  rather  worse,  I 
take  it ;  inasmuch  as  John  Duke  of  Marlborough  was  rather  a  greater 
man  than  the  present  John  Duke  of  Bedford  ;  and  inasmuch  likewise, 
as  to  be  a  Whig  was  not  quite  so  bad  a  thing  a  hundred  years  ago, 
thank  God !  as  it  is  now. 


190  NOCTES  AMBROSIAN^.  [May, 

Pen  Owen.  But  in  those  days  there  were  no  reviews  nor  maga- 
zines. 

North.  True,  but  they  came  not  long  after,  and  personality,  which 
no  literature  ever  was  without,  blended  itself  with  them  ab  ovo.  Is 
it  possible  that  you  have  need  for  me  to  tell  you  all  the  old  stories 
about  Samuel  Johnson  and  Ossian  Macpherson  and  the  oak  cudgel  % 
or  about  Dr.  Smollett  and  the  Critical  1  and  Fielding  %  How  he 
kept  the  Thames  on  fire  with  his  farces  and  novels,  and  roasted  all 
his  brother  justices  to  cinders  1 

Tickler.  Why,  you  know,  all  the  old  novelists  dealt  in  nothing  but 
personalities ;  about  that  there  was  no  manner  of  dispute.  The  only 
question  was,  not  whether  there  were  a  real  Morgan  or  a  real 
Trunnion,  but  ivhich  of  the  author's  competing  friends  had  sat  for  the 
portrait. 

North.  Just  so ;  and  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I'm  really  sick  of  such 
hackneyed  truths — you  may  just  trace  personality  as  distinctly  as 
stupidity,  down  the  whole  line  of  our  Whig  literature  in  particular. 
Turn  over  D'Israeli's  nice  little  books,  if  you  have  doubts — The 
Quarrels  of  Authors  above  all — 

NoctumS,  versate  manu,  versate  diurn^. 

Tickler.  Once  landed  in  our  own  times,  we  can  be  at  no  great  loss 
to  find  our  way.  Plenty  of  fine  staring  finger-posts  as  one  moves 
along.  The  Fudge  Family,  a  production  of  one  of  the  most  charming 
Whigs  that  ever  breathed — and  a  more  disloyal  piece  of  Whiggery 
was  never  written,  even  by  that  charming  Whig, — stands  pretty 
visible  yonder  against  the  sky. 

Pen  Owen.  Yes,  the  black  and  lowering  sky  of  disgustful  remem- 
brance. 

Tickler.  The  Twopenny  Post-bag !  'Tis  sufficient  to  mention  the 
name  of  such  a  bag  of  poison — base  brutal  poison.  Hone's  nice  little 
books,  (worthy  man !  the  Whigs  subscribed  for  him^  you  know,  as 
well  as  for  Gerald — I  hope  the  money  did  liim  much  good !)  The 
Morning  Chronicle,  with  so  many  of  Tom  Moore's  songs  against 
kings  and  ladies  introduced  into  it  by  good  Mr.  Perry,  whom  Sir 
James  Mackintosh  so  disinterestedly  lauded  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons. The  Old  Times,  stinking  of  Cockney  radicalism  and  Cock- 
ney personality  in  every  column — there's  no  want  of  landmarks  to 
guide  one  along  the  rnare  magnum  of  Whiggish  ruffianism. 

Sir  A.  Wylie.  And  after  a'  this  poor  Lord  Byron  must  be  charged, 
forsooth,  with  beginning  the  vice  o'  personality.  Oh  dear !  what  a 
thumper ! 

North.  The  fact  is,  that  Lord  Byron,  instead  of  being  the  sole 
personal  libeller,  is  only  a  unit  in  the  Whig  array,  whereof  Mr. 
Jeffrey  himself  is  another  unit — and  if  the  question  were,  which  of 


1822.]  "  HEEE   LET   ME    DINE  !  "  191 

these  two  is  the  more  deserving  of  the  title  of  leader  in  such  work,  I 
protest  I  think  I  should  have  no  difficulty  in  giving  my  vote  to  the 
commoner.  I  beg  leave  to  propose  the  memory  of  Dr.  Jonathan 
Swift,  Dean  of  St.  Patrick. 

Omnes.  Dean  Swift ! ! !  {Music  without. — Ah\  Diogenes^ 

surly  a?id  proud.) 

Odoherty  (sings.)* 

'Tis  not  when  on  turtle  and  venison  dining, 

And  sipping  Tokay  at  the  cost  of  bis  Grace  ; 
Like  the  plate  on  his  sideboard,  I'm  set  to  be  shining — 

(So  nearly  a  mug  may  resemble  a  face.) 
This  is  not  the  dinner  for  me — a  poor  sinner ; 

Where  I'm  bound  to  show  off,  and  throw  pearls  before  swine. 
Give  me  turnips  and  mutton, — (I  ne'er  was  a  glutton) — 

Good  friends  and  good  liquor — and  here  let  me  dine. 

Your  critic  shows  off,  with  his  snatches  and  tastes 

Of  odd  trash  from  Reviews,  and  odd  sorts  of  odd  wine  ; 
Half  a  glass — half  a  joke — from  the  Publisher's  stock 

Of  Balaam  and  Hock,  are  but  trash,  I  opine. 
Conversazioni — are  not  for  my  money, 

Where  Blue  Stockings  prate  about  Wylie  and  Pen  ; 
I'd  rather  get  tipsy  with  ipsissimi  ipsi — 

Plain  women  must  yield  to  plain  sense  and  plain  men. 

Your  dowager  gives  you  good  dinners,  'tis  true ; 

She  shines  in  liqueurs,  and  her  Shei'ry's  antique ; 
But  then  you  must  swear  by  her  eye's  lovely  blue, 

And  adore  the  bright  bloom  that  is  laid  on  her  cheek. 
Blue  eyes  in  young  faces  ai-e  quite  in  their  places ; 

One  praises  and  gazes  with  boundless  delight 
And  juvenile  roses  ne'er  trespass  on  noses. 

As  the  custom  of  those  is,  I've  cut  for  to-night. 

Your  colonels  talk  but  of  a  siege  or  a  battle — 

Your  merchants  of  naught  but  the  course  of  exchange — 
Your  squires,  of  their  hounds,  of  the  corn-bill  or  cattle — 

Your  doctors  their  eases  and  cui'es  will  arrange- 
Your  lawyer's  confounding,  on  multiple  poindiug — 

Your  artists  are  great  on  expression  and  tone — 
Parsons  sport  Moderators  and  Church -procurators, 

Each  set  is  the  devil  when  feeding  alone. 

But  here,  where  all  sets  and  all  topics  are  mingled — 

The  hero — the  dentist — the  parson — the  squire — 
No  07ie  branch  of  blarney's  selected  or  singled, — 

But  our  wine  and  our  wit  each  discussion  inspire  ; 
Where  the  pun  and  the  glass  simultaneously  pass ; 

Where  each  song  seems  quite  heavenly,  each  bumper  divine ; 
Where  there's  drinking  and  smoking,  and  quizzing  and  joking, 

But  nothing  provoking — Here  !  Here  !  let  me  dine. 

{Here!  here!) 

*  This  song  was  written  by  Dr.  Maginn. — M. 


192  NOCTES   AMBROSIAN^.  [May, 

Pen  Owen.  Talking  of  Dean  Swift, — what  is  Mr.  Maturin  about  1 

Odoherty.  Grinding,  grinding  !  Isn't  it  a  shame  for  people  to  run 
him  down  at  such  a  rate  %  and  the  man  a  Tory — an  Aristocrat — a 
well-dressed  gentleman-like  author  !  'Tis  abominable.  'Tis  too  bad 
to  think  of  such  a  man  being  poor,  and  you  know  he  complained  of 
it  himself  in  his  preface.* 

Pen  Owen.  Mr.  Odoherty,  I  don't  mean  to  defend  the  Quarterly — 
but  did  you  never  take  a  wipe  at  Mother  Morgan  yourself? 

Odoherty.  I  believe  I  may  have  done  such  a  thing — But  how 
different  the  case  :  why  that  little  fidevani  Miladi  absolutely  brags 
of  her  cash,t  and  sets  off  public  reprobation  with  a  balance  of  pounds, 
shillings,  and  pence. 

Tickler.  Her  motto  is,  no  doubt — 

"  Populus  me  sibilat :  at  mihi  plaudo, 
Ipsa  domi,  siniul  ac  nummos  contemplor  in  area." 

But  did  not  Maturin  write  something  called  the  Universe  1 

Odoherty.  That  has  reached  long  ago  the  uttermost  ends  of  the 
earth — but  why  allude  to  such  things'?  when  are  we  to  have  the 
Southside  Papers  1 

Tickler.  Why,  I  am  kept  back  by  a  late  decision.  I  fear  the 
judge  who  refuses  his  protection  to  Byron's  Cain,  would  scarcely 
take  my  rattan  under  his  wing. 

Sir  A.  Wylie.  Gentlemen,  I've  sat  here  a  long  while,  and  been 
greatly  diverted  with  many  things  I've  heard,  and  edified  with  some 
— but  the  Chancellor,  I  have  the  honor  to  say,  is  my  friend,  and  I 
must  quit  the  company,  if  I  hear  any  thing  further  in  a  similar  strain. 
Besides,  he  was  perfectly  right  in  that  decision. 

Pen  Owen.  Multum  dubito. 

Odoherty  [aside  to  Pen  Owen.)  You  had  better  not  enter  into  any 
dispute  w4th  Sir  Andrew.  Not  much  flash,  but  the  longest  Scotch 
head  I  am  acquainted  with.  And  his  humor, — w^hy  even  you  might 
find  him  ill  to  deal  wdth. 

*  The  Rev.  Robert  Charles  Maturin  lived  and  died  a  curate  in  the  richest  Church  Establish- 
ment in  the  world — that  of  Ireland.  He  was  a  native  of  Dublin,  and  was  curate  of  St.  Peter's 
Church,  in  that  city.  A  limited  income,  which  ahvays  kept  him  in  difficulties,  led  him  to 
proffer  his  tragedy  of  "Bertram,"  to  the  management  of  Drury  Lane  Theatre.  It  was  accepted, 
acted,  (Kean  playing  the  hero),  and  brought  Maturin  £5U0.  Another  of  his  plays,  called 
"  Montorio,"  was  offered  to  John  Kemble,  by  Scott,  (who  took  a  strong  and  kind  interest  in 
Maturin),  but  nothing  advantageous  came  from  it.  He  also  wrote  the  tragedies  of  "  Manuel" 
and  "  P'rcdolpho,"  the  wild  romance— as  interesting  as  any  of  Mrs.  Radcliffe's — called 
"  Melmoth,  the  Wanderer,"  a  novel,  entitled  "Woman,  or  Pour  et  Centre,"  and  a  poem  called 
"  The  Universe."  He  published  three  other  novels,  very  popular  in  their  day  :  "  The  Fatal 
Revenge."  "The  Wild  Irish  Boy,"  and  "The  Milesian  Chief ;"— these  three  appeared  with  the 
name  of  Dennis  Jasper  Murphy  on  the  title-page.  In  1824,  the  year  before  he  died,  Maturin 
published  six  "  Controversial  Sermons,"  which  exhibit  him  as  a  well-read  scholar  and  an 
acute  reasoner.  Poverty  was  ever  at  the  heels  of  this  gifted  man,  whose  private  character  was 
excellent. — M. 

t  Lady  Morgan's  receipts  from  literature  cannot  have  been  less  than  £25,000.  Besides  this, 
for  many  years  past,  she  had  a  pension  of  £300  a-year  from  the  British  Government. — M. 


1822.] 


PEN   OWEN.^'  193 


Pen  Owen.  You  are  right.  He  is  indeed  a  canny  clever  Scotch- 
anan.  Entre  nous  the  king  was  delighted  with  his  book.  You  may- 
depend  upon  this,     I  heard  him  say  so  myself. 

Tickler.  I  have  been  much  interested  by  your  delightful  descrip- 
tion of  a  certain  beautiful  creature,  Mr,  Owen  1  Have  you  and  Mrs. 
O,  any  family,  by-the-by  % 

Pen  Owen,  Three  — 

OdoheHy.  You  mean  volumes — and  if  so,  I  can  tell  you  very 
seriously,  the  third  is  the  best  of  the  batch. 

Pen  Owen.  To  be  candid,  what  is  your  opinion  of  my  book  ? 

Odoherty,  Your  book  is  a  jnwel ;  but  if  you  had  happened  to  be 
a  Scotsman,  and  writ  such  a  book  about  Scotland,  and  Scots  people, 
you  might  just  as  well  have  leaped  fix>m  the  top  of  the  Monument  as 
published  it. 

Pen  Owen.  Why  ?  I  assure  you,  I  wrote  the  book  in  the  greatest 
possible  good  nature, 

Odoherty.  Devil  doubts  you,  I  dare  say  Hogg  was  never  in  half 
such  a  benign  disposition,  as  he  was  when  he  wrote  The  Chaldee. 

Pen  Owen.  Satire  is  upon  the  whole  a  good-humored  vice,  in  my 
opinion. 

Odoherty.  'Tis  in  my  estimation  the  most  placid  of  virtues.  Pick 
me  up  some  day  with  a  face  like  a  lemon  rind — hazy — dumpish — 
sulky — bitter — perhaps  just  escaped  from  a  detestable  dun  of  a 
tailor,  or  a  dozen  of  prating  whiglings  or  the  like — and  take  me  into 
the  nearest  tavern.  Order  a  hot  beefsteak,  a  rummer  of  brandy  and 
water — bring  out  a  good  pen  and  a  few  sheets  of  hot-pressed  paper, 
and  a  bundle  of  segars,  and  say,  "  At  it,  Odoherty  !  Up  with  your 
back.  Adjutant !" 

Pen  Owen.  What  follows? 

Odoherty.  A  calm !  a  perfect  Claude,  the  most  beautiful,  serene, 
delightful,  dewy  atmosphere,  spreads  its  wide  embracing  canopy  over 
all  the  troubled  surface  of  my  soul.  My  spirit,  enshrined  as  it  were 
in  the  divine  depths  of  contemplation,  exerts  her  energies  sweetly, 
nobly,  sublimely  !  It  is  then  that  I  comprehend  how  true  to  nature 
and  to  virtue  is  the  exquisite  apostrophe  of  the  Epicurean  bard — 

"  Suave  mari  magno,  turbantibus  aequora  ventis, 
Ex  tuto  alterius  longum  spectare  laborem." 

On  the  whole,  I  consider  Tom  Cribb  and  myself  as  the  two  best- 
natured  men  in  Britain  ! 

Pen  Oweti.  Well,  now,  I  confess  'twas  not  in  that  high-placed  vein 
I  composed  my  most  cutting  chapters.  I  have  sometimes  wakened 
of  a  morning,  God  knows  how  or  why,  in  a  strange  mixed  state  of 
feeling — ready  to  go  any  lengths,  in  short — up  to  any  thing — utterly 
reckless — that's  all  I  can  say  about  the  matter — deuced  good  fun  ! 

VOL.  I.  9 


194  NOCTES   AMBEOSIANJi:.  [May, 

Odoherty.  Ay,  but  how  inferior  that  is  to  the  chosen  "  moods  of 
MY  mind  ?"  On  such  occasions,  it  may  almost  be  said  I  would  not 
harm  a  fly. 

Pen  Owen.  The  scope  and  tendency  of  some  of  your  observations 
perplex  me. 

North.  I  hate  this  sort  of  committee  business.  We're  all  getting 
into  knots  and  corners.  Owen  and  the  Adjutant  upon  satire  and 
segars — Feldborg  and  the  Odontist  on  the  Czar  of  Muscovy's  tooth- 
powder — ^Tickler  dozing — and  Sir  Andrew  Wylie  and  myself  left 
quite  alone  to  the  great  topic  of  things  in  general !  Why,  this  will 
never  do.  ,        ■» 

Dr.  Scott,  {tapping  his  spoon  against  the  side  of  the  howl,  sings.) 

Jolly  Tories,  fill  your  glasses, 
Odoherty  {singa.)     Hear  the  tinkle  on  the  rim. 
Tickler  (sings.)       All  the  Whigs  are  geese  and  asses. 
North  (sings.)  Hollow  heart  and  vision  dim  ! 

Chorus.— Fa\  la!  la!  la!  la!  la!  la!  la!  <fec. 

Feldborg,  the  Dane.  Allow  me  to  give  you  a  little  Scandinavian 
solo. 

North.  (ITtiocking  with  his  hammer.)  Silence  !  Feldborg's  solo. 
Feldborg  [sings.) 

Hveru  morgin  ser  horna, 
Hlock  a  tems — ar  backa, 
Skala  hanga  ma  hungra, 
Hrae — shod  litud  blodi 
Hre  sigr — fickin  saekir, 
Snarla  borgar  karla 
Dynr  a  Brezkar  bryniur 
Blod  is  Dana  visi ! ! ! 
Dynr  a  Brezkar,  &c. 

North.  Come,  it  suits  you  very  well,  after  what  happened  not  quite 
fifty  years  ago,  to  sing  such  a  ditty  as  this. 

Dr.  Scott.  Keep  us  a' !  Do  you  ken  what  he  was  singing  1  I 
thought  it  was  Danish  or  Dutch  at  the  lowest  penny. 

North.  The  last  two  lines,  being  interpreted,  signify, 

"  The  King  of  Denmark's  bloody  hail 
Resounds  against  the  British  mail." 

Is  it  not  so.  Professor  1 

Feldborg.  I  suifer  this  no  longer  !  Golt  und  Teufel !  I  quit  the 
Nomber.  [Fxit  Feldborg. 

North.  Why,  this  is  beyond  all  bearing  !  Tickler,  you  are  a  new- 
married  man, — you  are  or  ought  to  be  nimble, — run  after  the  Dane, 
and  recall  him. 

Tickler.  Sir,  do  you  suppose  that  because  I'm  a  contributor,  an 
editor  has  a  right  to  cast  personal  reflections  upon  me  ?  to  rend  away 


1822.]  GETTING   HUFFED.  195 

the  veil  of  my  domestic  concerns  1 — Sir,  I  scorn  your  sneers  ! — Sir, 
your  servant ! — Good  night,  gentlemen. 

[£^xit  Tickler,  furiosus. 
Odoherty.  Ye  gods  !     How  infernally  drunk  Tickler  has  been  these 
two  hours  !     Honest  Tickler  !  he  too,  to  be  up  ! 

Timotheus  placed  on  high, 
Amid  the  sounding  quire ! ! ! 

I  suppose  the  next  thing  will  be  Sir  Andrew  Wylie  bolting  upon 
some  absurd  allusion  to  his  autobiography. 

Sir  A.  Wyile.  Mr.  Odoherty, — I  beg  your  pardon.  Captain  Odo- 
herty! I  crave  leave  to  say,  ance  for  a',  that,  although  my  life  fill 
three  volumes,  and  yours  but  seven  pages,  mine  does  not  contain  any 
narrative,  either  of  seeking  after  a  snuff-box  in  the  midst  of  a  battle, 
or  of  marrying  the  mistress  of  a  chop-house,  and  escaping  as  soon  as 
the  till  was  sucked* — do  you  take  me  1 

Dr.  Scott.  Life  in  a  mussel !  Weel  said.  Sir  Andrew — stick  it 
into  him.  A  foul-mouthed  creature!  Clink  down  with  sic  clan- 
jamphray ! 

Odoherty.  [Showing  a  lemon  cut  into  a  caricature  of  Sir  Andrew.) 
Do  you  know  that  phiz,  Mr.  Baronet  ? 

Sir  A.  Wylie,  [Throwing  down  his  card.)  Mr.  Ensign,  there's 
my  address.     Good  night,  gentlemen.  \_£Jxit  Sir  A.  Wylie. 

Br.  Scott,  [Aside  to  North.)  Od  sauf  us !  How  Sir  Andrew's 
staggering!  Your  last  bowl  has  clean  done  him!  I  maun  just  see 
him  as  far  as  Maclean's ;  for  if  he  were  to  be  ta'en  up  to  the  Police 
Office,  it  would  never  answer — him  an  Elder,  too,  ye  ken. 

[Exit  Dr.  Scott. 

North.  So,  Odoherty,  we're  left  almost  to  ourselves.  I  think  the 
nature  and  effects  of  personality  have  been  decently  discussed  this 
evening,  however.  I  hope  nothing  of  what  has  happened  will  ever 
transpire.     Pen  Owen,  I  think,  is  asleep. 

Odoherty.  Snoring.  But,  Lord  love  ye,  I've  a  short-hand  writer 
behind  that  screen  yonder.  Every  M^ord  is  down.  'Twill  make  a 
prime  article ;  and  you  knew  it  would,  else  we  should  not  have  dined 
here  to-day ;  but  as  Luttrell  says, 

"  O,  that  there  might  in  England  be 
A  duty  on  Hypocrisy, 

*  In  the  brief  account  of  the  Life  and  Writings  of  Odoherty,  in  Blackwood's  Magazine 
which  first  introduced  the  Standard-bearer  to  the  reading  public,  these  two  incidents  ^vere 
mentioned,  I  confess.  Odoherty,  who  was  in  the  44th  infantry,  in  the  battle  of  New  Orleans 
unfortunately  was  prevented  from  participating  in  that  contest,  having  been  delayed  in  search 
of  a  much  valued  snuff-box,  which  he  had  mislaid.  What  of  that?— Colonel  MuUins,  com- 
manding the  44th,  was  brought  to  a  court-martial  for  like  absence,  (like  Colonel,  like  Ensi"-n) 
and  broke.  The  other  little  accident  referred  to  by  Sir  Andrew,  in  which  Mrs.  M'Whirter  late 
of  Philadelphia,  was  a  fair  participant,  was  fully  explained— as  the  reader  of  "  Christopher  in 
The  Tent,"  in  this  volume,  may  have  seen,  and  if  the  explanation  satisfied  the  lady,  why  should 
Sir  Andrew  Wylie  cast  a  reproach  in  Odoherty's  face  ?— M. 


196 


NOCTES   A1MBR0STAN.E. 


[May, 


A  tax  on  Humbug,  an  excise 

Ou  solemn  plausibilities, 

A  stamp  on  every  man  that  canted  1 

JSTo  millions  more,  if  these  were  granted, 

Henceforward  would  be  raised  or  wanted ; 

But  Van,  with  an  o'erflowing  chest. 

Might  soon  forgive  us  all  the  rest."* 

North.  Well,  I  think  the  reporter  must  be  dry  enough  by  this 
time.  Come  forth,  thou  rat  i'  the  arras  !  You  shall  have  your  share 
of  one  bowl  at  the  least ; — and  thou,  heir  of  Cym  Owen,  rouse  thee ! 
rouse  thee  for  the  field !  [  Curtain  falls. 


Spoken   by    Christopher    North,   Esquire,    and  Sir   A.  Wylie, 

Baronet. 

Mr.  North.        "  Something  too  much  of  this  !"  I  hear  you  cry — 

Ye  canting  creeping  vermin  !     What  care  I  ? 

If  Whigs  there  be  (methinks  there  must  be  some) 

Not  in  their  secret  souls  the  slaves  of  Hum, 

Let  them  for  once  speak  truly  ! 

Sir  A.  Wylie.  or  be  dumb. 

Mr.  North.       Confess  it,  Jeffrey,  (for  you  needs  must  know) 

That  Jest  and  Earnest  hand  in  hand  may  go, 

That  sober  truth  may  be  inweaved  with  fun, 

Philosophy  be  pointed  in  a  pun. 

Candor  be  calm  beneath  a  forehead  knit — 

Keenly,  yet  kindly,  flash  the  shafts  of  wit — 

Sir  A.  Wylie.  And  Tories  round  a  harmless  table  sit. 

Mr.  North.       Confess ;  speak  out,  man ! 

Sir  A.  Wylie.  Once  upon  a  time 

You  loved  a  joke  yourself,  if  not  a  rhyme ! 
Mr.  North.       Confess  quaint  Quizzery,  though  it  makes  one  wince 
Sir  A.  Wylie.  — I  bar  what  wounds  a  Lady  or  a  Prince. — 
Mr.  North.      — Is,  after  all,  not  quite  a  hanging  matter ! 

— What,  Jeffrey  ?     Not  one  word  for  poor  dear  Satire? 
Sir  A.  Wylie.  Well,  well,  I  wish  ye  wiser,  man,  and  fatter ! 
Mr.  North.       I  fiud  I  can  make  nothing  of  these  Whigs. 
Sir  A.  Wylie.  We'll  try  to  do  without  them,  please  the  Pigs ! 
Mr.  North.       To  you,  to  you,  ye  Tories  of  the  land ! 

To  you  we  turn,  with  you  we  take  our  stand ! 

Not  you,  ye  "  Pluckless,"  who,  when  things  look  blue, 

Distrust  a  cause  sublime  in  spite  of  you. 

Abandon  those  who  bear  the  blazing  brunt, 

And  fight,  ye  fools,  your  battle  in  your  front — 

No — ne'er  to  court  your  favor  shall  we  stoop, 

Nor  fawn  for  shelter  where  your  crestless  eagles  droop, 

•  See  Letters  to  Julia,  second  edition,  p.  104.  By-the-by,  these  elegant  letters  are  much  im- 
proved in  the  second  edition.  The  book  is  no-w  quite  a  bijou. — C.  N.  [Luttrell,  one  of  the 
most  sparkling  wits  of  his  time,  who  may  be  reproached  with  not  having  written  enough. — M.] 


1822.]  EPILOGTJE.  197 

To  shun  the  eoDflict  but  hold  fast  the  spoil — 
Clutch  at  the  trophy,  having  shirk'd  the  toil — 

Sir  A.  Wylie.  — And  gloat,  while  others  sweat,  on  your  snug  roast  and  boil ! 

Mr.  North.       These  are  your  maxims  1     Tenal  vapid  crew ! 
Low  we  may  come,  but  ne'er  so  low  as  YOU  ! 
"  Low  we  may  come !"  forgive  the  hasty  phrase, 
Ye  Tories  true  1  whose  patronage  IS  praise  ! 
High  the  good  eminence  we  now  possess, 
l^or  shall  we  e'er  be  lower  down — 

Sir  A.  Wylie^  {loosening  a  fifth  button.)    Or  less — 

Mr.  North.  While  YOU  our  trumpet  hear,  and  round  our  banner  press. 
Both.  Though  gourdish  scions  of  the  "  Servum  Pecus" 

Rise  as  if  glare  should  dim  or  weight  should  break  us, 
Like  some  tough  tree  these  pithless  boughs  between, 
Knotted  and  gnarled,  appeal's  THE  Magazine  ! 
Some  last  one  summer ;  some,  with  much  ado, 
Spin  out  a  speechless  Life-in-Death  through  two ; 
But  wanting  depth  of  soil,  and  length  of  root. 
Though  buds  a  few  and  blossoms  they  may  shoot, 
One  looks  in  vain  to  them  for  genuine  juicy  fruit. 
Squeeze  hard  !  One  painful  mouthful  they  supply, 
But  thirsty  wits  must  turn  to  US,  or  die ! 


No.  IV.— JULY,  1822. 

SCENE — Transferred  [by  poetic  license)  to  Pisa,* 

Odoherty^  (solus.)  Jupiter  strike  me  !  but  that  cabbage  soup  and 
roasted  raisins  is  an  infernal  mixture — Blow  all  Italian  cookery,  say 
I.  Evfery  thing  is  over-done  here — how  inferior  to  the  Carlingford  !f 
The  dishes  done  to  rags. 

filter  Waiter. 

Waiter.  Milordo,  here  is  questo  grand  Lord  is  come,  for  to  have 
the  onore  of  kissing  the  manos  for  sua  eccellenza. 

Odoherty.  Kissing  my  what  1  Show  in  the  shaver — hand  him  in 
upon  a  clean  plate.  [Exit  Waiter. 

Enter  Lord  Byron. 

Byron.  Mr.  Doherty, — I  trust  I  — 

Odoherty.  Odoherty,  if  you  please,  sir. 

Byron.  Mr.  Odoherty,  I  have  to  beg  pardon  for  this  intrusion — but 
really,  hearing  you  were  to  remain  but  this  evening  in  Pisa,  I  could 
not  deny  myself  the  pleasure  of  at  least  seeing  a  gentleman  of 
whom  I  have  heard  and  read  so  much — I  need  scarcely  add,  that  I 
believe  myself  to  be  in  the  presence  of  the  Odoherty. 

Odoherty,  You  may  say  that ;  but,  may  I  take  the  liberty  of 
asking,  who  you  are  yourself? 

*  A  large  portion  of  the  preceding  Noctes  were  written  by  Maginn,  but  that  which  followeth 
(to  wit,  No.  IV.)  is  entirely  from  his  pen.  It  has  so  many  actual  points  of  vraisemblance,  that 
even  Byron  himself  is  said  to  have  exclaimed,  after  reading  it,  "  By  Jupiter!  the  fellow  has 
me  down  regularly,  in  black  and  white."  The  scene  was  laid  in  Pisa,  whither  Byron  had 
removed  in  the  autumn  of  1821,  and  remained  until  September,  [822,  when  he  went  to  Genoa, 
and  thence,  in  1S23,  to  Greece.— The  mention  of  this  reminds  me,  by  the  way,  of  what  the 
Guiccioli  said,  in  her  visit  to  London;  when  she  was  so  lionized  as  having  been  the  lady-love 
of  Byron.  She  was  rather  fond  of  speaking  on  the  subject,  designating  herself  by  some  Vene- 
tian pet  phrase  which  certainly  was  not  to  be  found  in  any  dictionary,  but  which  she  inter- 
preted as  meaning  "  Love-wife."  At  Pisa,  he  had  been  sounded  on  the  subject  of  going  to 
Greece,  where  it  was  believed  he  had  immense  wealth,  where  it  was  known  that  he  loved  the 
country,  and  had  written  warmly  in  its  favor.  He  was  undecided.  Again  and  again  he  was 
solicited,  each  time  more  strongly.  At  last,  he  sportively  said  to  the  Guiccioli,  "Let fourteen 
captains  come  and  ask  me  to  go,  and  go  I  will."  "  Ah,"  said  the  dama,  "  there  are  not  fourteen 
Greek  captains  in  Italy  ;  now  I  know  that  you  will  remain."  She  mentioned,  to  show  how 
slight  the  chance  was  of  his  leaving  Italy,  what  he  said.  As  it  was  known  that  he  strictly 
adhered  to  his  word,  on  all  occasions,  a  letter  was  written  to  Greece,  and  fourteen  captains 
actually  were  sent  out.  They  waited  on  him,  pressed  him  to  go,  backing  their  request  with 
letters  from  Prince  Mavrocardato,  (who  offered  to  resign  his  leadership  in  favor  of  Byron,)  and 
the  result  was  that,  what  he  had  playfully  said,  being  taken  for  earnest,  he  believed  he  could 
not  honorably  get  out  of  it.    The  result  was— his  departure  for  Greece  in  August,  1823.— M. 

t  A  liotel  in  Dublin.— M. 


1822.]  LACKTMA   CHKISTI.  199 

Byron.  My  name's  Byron. 

Odoherty.  Byron  !  Lord  Byron  !  God  bless  you,  my  dear  fellow. 
Sure  I  was  a  blockhead  not  to  know  you  at  first  sight.  Waiter  ! 
waiter!  waiter!  I  say.  They  don't  understand  even  plain  English 
in  this  house ! 

Enter  Waiter. 

Waiter.  Milordo  ! 

Odoherty.  Instantaneously  a  clean  glass — if  you  have  any  thing 
clean  in  this  filthy  country — and,  my  lord,  what  will  you  drink  ?  I 
drink  every  thing  bating  water. 

Byron.  Why,  Mr.  Odoherty,  to  be  plain  with  you — you  will  find 
but  poor  accommodation  in  these  Italian  inns — and  I  should,  there- 
fore, recommend  you  to  come  with  me  to  my  villa. "^  You  will  meet 
fellows  there — asses  of  the  first  water — native,  and  stranger,  whom 
you  can  cut-up,  quiz,  and  humbug  without  end. 

Odoherty.  With  deference,  my  lord,  I  shall  stay  where  I  am — I 
never  knew  any  place  where  a  man  was  so  much  at  home  as  in  a 
tavern,  no  matter  how  shy.     Ho !  waiter. 

Waiter.  Milordo  ! 

Odoherty.  What-a  have-a  you-a  to  drink-a,  in  this  damned  house-a 
of  yours  1  {Aside.) — I  suppose  to  make  the  fellow  understand,  I  must 
speak  broken  English. 

\Lord  Byron  whispers  waiter^  who  exit ;   and  after  a  moment 
returns  with  two  flasks  of  Montiflascone.^ 

Byron.  Fill,  Mr.  Odoherty.    Your  health,  sir ;  and  welcome  to  Italy. 

Odoherty.  Your  health,  my  lord ;  and  I  wish  we  both  were  out  of 
it.  But  this  stuff  is  by  no  means  so  bad  as  I  expected.  What  do 
you  call  it  1 

Byron.  Lacryma  Christi.J 

Odoherty.  Lacryma  Christi !  A  pretty  name  to  go  to  church  with  ! 
Very  passable  stingo — though  Inishowen  is,  after  all,  rather  stiffer 
drinking, 

Byron.  Inishowen  !     What's  that  *? 

Odoherty.  Whisky,  made  in  the  hills  about  Inishowen,  in  the  north.  Il 

*  In  July,  1822,  Byron  and  Shelley  had  their  town-residences  at  Pisa.  Byron  had  a  villeg- 
giatara  (or  country  house)  at  Mont  Nero,  near  Leghorn— Shelley's  was  at  Lerici.  Byron's 
Pisan  dwelling  was  the  Casa  Lanfranchi,  (on  the  river  Arno,  which  runs  through  the  city,) 
and  is  said  to  have  been  built  by  Michael  Angelo.  It  was  in  this  palace  that  Byron  gave 
rooms  to  Leigh  Hunt  and  his  family,  and  here  the  first  number  of  The  Liberal  was  pre- 
pared.— M. 

t  This  I  take  to  be  a  mistake.  They  were  in  the  region  of  Montepulciano,  which  Redi,  (in 
his  "Bacco  in  Toscano")  has  pronounced  to  be  The  King  of  Wines. — It  is  a  pleasant  tipple, 
smelling  like  a  fresh  nosegay,  but,  unfortunately,  does  not  bear  transportation.  It  must  be 
drunk,  not  only  in  Italy,  but  in  the  very  district  where  it  is  made.— M. 

+  There  are  tivo  wines  bearing  this  name.  One  is  light-colored,  like  Hock,  with  a  flavor 
something  like  aerated  lemonade  and  sherry, — weak  and  sweet.  The  other  (chiefly  made  in 
Sicily)  has  a  ruby  tint,  is  rough  to  the  taste,  being  nothing  more  nor  less  than  an  Italian  port- 
wine.  This  red  Lacryma  Christi  is  much  used  in  England  to  adulterate  the  Portuguese  port- 
wine.  The  sweet,  pale  Lacryma,  mixed  with  an  equal  portion  of  good  brandy,  used  to 
make  a  passable  libation. — M. 

il  Of  Ireland.— M. 


200  NOCTES  AMBEOSIANiE.  [July, 

General  Hart  patronizes  it  much.  Indeed  the  Lord  Chancellor,  old 
Manners,  is  a  great  hand  at  it. 

Byron.  I  cannot  exactly  say  I  recognize  whom  you  speak  of;  nor 
did  I  ever  hear  of  the  liquor, 

Odoherty.  Why,  then,  I  wrote  rather  a  neat  song  about  it  once  911 
a  time,  which  I  shall  just  twist  off  for  the  edification  of  your  lordship. 

Odoherty  (sings.) 

1. 

I  care  not  a  fig  for  a  flagon  of  flip. 

Or  a  -whistling  can  of  rumbo  ; 
But  my  tongue  through  whisky  punch  will  slip 

As  nimble  as  Hurlothrumbo. 
So  pnt  the  spirits  on  the  board, 

And  give  the  lemons  a  squeezer, 
And  we'll  mix  a  jorum,  by  the  Lord ! 

That  will  make  your  worship  sneeze,  sir. 

2. 

The  French,  no  doubt,  are  famous  souls, 

I  love  them  for  their  brandy ; 
In  rum  and  sweet  tobacco  rolls, 

Jamaica  men  are  handy. 
The  big-breech'd  Dutch  in  juniper  gin, 

I  own,  are  very  knowing  ; 
But  are  rum,  gin,  brandy,  worth  a  pin, 

Compared  with  Inishowen  ? 

Extempore  verse  additional. 

Though  here  with  a  Lord,  'tis  jolly  and  fine, 

To  tumble  down  Lacryma  Christi, 
And  over  a  skin  of  Italy's  wine 

To  get  a  little  misty ; 
Yet  not  the  blood  of  the  Bourdeaux  grape, 

The  finest  grape-juice  going, 
Nor  clammy  Constantia,  the  pride  of  the  Cape, 

Prefer  I  to  Inishowen. 

Byron.  Thank  ye,  Mr.  Odoherty.  Oh!  by  Jupiter,  you  have  not 
been  flattered  ;  you  are  a  prince  of  good-fellows ;  ay,  and  of  good- 
looking  fellows. 

Odoherty..  The  same  compliment  I  may  pay  you,  my  Lord.  I 
never  saw  you  before.  By-the-by^  you  look  much  older  than  the 
print  which  Murray  gave  me  when  I  was  up  at  the  Coronation. 

Byron.  Ah !  then  you  know  Murray  1  Murray  is  an  excellent 
fellow.  Not  such  a  bookseller  between  the  Apennine  and  the 
Grampian. 

Odoherty.  Always  excepting  Ebony,  my  Lord  ? 

Byron.  How  is  Ebony  %  I'm  told  he's  been  getting  fat  since  I 
saw  him. 


1S22.]  SAM  EOaEES.  201 

Odoherty.  A  porpoise.  No  wonder,  my  lord;  let  them  fatten 
who  win.  As  for  laughing,  that  you  know,  we  may  all  screw  a 
mouth  to. 

Byron,  On  the  same  principle,  my  old  friend  Jeffrey  must  be 
thinning  apace. 

Odoherty.  A  perfect  whipping-post.  But  I  have  not  seen  the  little 
man  this  some  time.  I  don't  think  he  goes  much  into  public — his 
book  I  know  does  not. 

Byron.  Have  you  been  in  London  lately,  Mr.  Odoherty  ^ 

Odoherty.  O  yes,  past  through  about  a  fortnight  ago.  But  let  me 
request  your  Lordship  to  sink  the  mister  entirely,  and  call  me  by  my 
name  quite  plain — Odoherty,  as  it  is. 

Byron.  Certainly,  Odoherty,  as  you  wish  it — but  you  in  return 
must  sink  the  Lord,  and  let  me  be  plain  Byron. 

Odoherty.  To  be  sure,  Byron.  Hunt,  you  know,  called  you  "  Dear 
Byron"  some  years  ago  in  a  dedication  ;*  and  if  you  would  allow  the 
familiarity  of  a  poor  devil  of  a  Cockney  editor  of  a  sneaking  Sunday 
paper,  you  would  be  squeamish  indeed,  if  you  wanted  to  be  Lorded 
by  me.  And  yet,  after  all,  Le  Hunto  is  a  cleverer  fellow  than  most 
of  the  Cockneys. 

Byron.  He's  worth  fifty  Hoggs.  These  plehs  occasionally  write 
good  verses. 

Odoherty.  I  shan't  give  up  Hogg.     Have  you  seen  his  last  work  ? 

Byron.  His  last  work  !     I  am  glad  to  hear  it  has  come  at  length. 

Odoherty.  It  is  quite  a  Chaldee. 

Byron.  Oh  !  that's  his  first  work.  Seriously,  however,  I  have 
heard  nothing  of  him  since  your  good-humored  notice  of  his  Life  in 
Blackwood.f 

Odoherty.  Thank  you.  Baron !  I  take  you.  By-the-by,  what  a 
right  good  poem  that  was  of  yours,  on  old  Bam  Rogers.  J;  You  and 
I  may  leave  off  quizzing  one  another.  We  at  least  are  too  much 
up  to  trap.     But  the  old  banker  was  as  mad  as  blazes  about  it. 

*  The  poem  of  '•  Rimini"  was  dedicated  to  Byron,  by  Leigh  Hunt,  who  commenced  what  he 
had  to  say  in  prose  with  the  words.  ''My  dear  Byron."  Many  years  after,  when  Byron's  books 
came  to  be  examined,  after  his  death,  it  was  found  that  the  words  "  My  dear  Byron"  had  been 
marked  out,  with  ink,  and  "  Impudent  Varlet,"  in  his  Lordship's  own  hand-writing,  written 
opposite  I — M. 

t  In  the  summer  of  1821,  there  appeared  in  Edinburgh,  a  third  edition  of  Hogg's  "  Mountain 
Bard."  with  an  auto-biography.  In  Blackivood,  for  August,  1821,  appeared  a  critique  upon 
this  Memoir,  in  which  the  Shepherd's  adventures  were  greatly  ridiculed — particularly  one 
sentence,  on  which  he  positively  asserted  that  he  had  written  The  Chaldee  Manuscript,  and 
another  in  which  he  affirmed  that  Blarkioood' s  Magazine  was  an  original  suggestion  of  his 
own.  It  was  a  savage,  slaughtering  article,  but  Christopher  North  insisted  (in  Maga),  that 
Hogg  himself  had  written  it,  to  gain  notoriety  I — M. 

$  A  set  of  dogrel  rhymes,  in  which  Rogers  was  complimented  as  possessing,  among  other 
personal  advantages, 

"  Features  that  would  shame  a  knocker." 
The  story  goes,  that  when  Rogers  visited  Byron  in  Italy,  the  noble  bard  placed  the  satire,  as 
aforesaid,  under  the  sofa-cushion  on  which  the  banker-bard  reposed,  and  chuckled  at  the  idea 
of  his  sitting,  as  it  were,  on  a  sort  of  literary  volcano ! — M, 

9* 


202  NOCTES  AMBROSIAN^.  [July, 

Byron.  Non  mi  ricordo.  I  was  in  a  state  of  civilation*  when  I 
wrote  it — if  indeed  1  did  ever  write  such  a  thing. 

Odoherty.  'Twas  Wordsworth  told  me  of  it,  and  I  doubt  he's 
given  to  humbugging  much. 

Byron.  Oh  !  the  old  Ponder  !  The  great  god  Pan !  is  he  extant 
still  % 

Odoherty.  Alive  and  sulky.  He  has  been  delivered  of  two  octavos 
this  spring. 

Byron.  So  have  I,  for  that  matter.     Are  his  as  heavy  as  mine  % 

Odoherty.  The  Giants'  Causeway  to  a  two-year  old  paving-stone — 
thundering  fellows,  about  Roman  Catholic  Emancipation,  which  he 
has  dished  into  little  sonnets.  Yours,  however,  were  lumpish  enough, 
in  the  name  of  Nicholas. 

Byron.  The  sale,  at  least,  was  heavy. 

Odoherty.  Your  tributary,  his  Majesty,  the  Emperor  of  the  West, 
grumbled  like  a  pig  in  the  fits,  I  suppose. 
.    Byron.  Come,  come,  no  personalities  on  this  side  of  the  Alps. 

Odoherty.  Satan  reproving  sin.  That's  pretty  from  you — the 
bottle's  out — after  what  Jeffrey  has  said  of  you — call  for  another  — 
in  the  last  number  of  the  Edinburgh — fill"  your  glass — of  the  Edin- 
burgh Review.     No  bad  bottle  this. 

Byron.  Why,  Odoherty,  you  and  I  may  joke,  but  such  fellows  as 
these  to  be  preaching  about  Cain,  and  canting  about  Don  Juan  is  too 
bad.  I  once  thought  Jeffrey  had  a  little  brains,  but  now  I  see  he  is 
quite  an  old  woman. 

Odoherty.  Nay,  by  the  eternal  frost,  and  that's  as  great  an  oath 
as  if  I  sworQ  by  the  holy  bottle,  I  agree  with  Jeff  on  this  point.  I 
don't  care  a  cracked  jews-harp  about  him  in  general ;  but  here,  faith, 
I  must  say  I  think  him  quite  right.  Consider,  my  lord — consider,  I 
say,  what  a  very  immortal  work  Don  Juan  is — how  you  therein 
sport  with  the  holiest  ties—the  most  sacred  feelings — the  purest 
sentiments.  In  a  word,  with  every  thing — the  bottle  is  with  you — 
with  every  thing  which  raises  a  man  above  a  mere  sensual  being.  1 
say,  consider  this,  and  you  will  not  wonder  so  much  that  all  England 
is  in  an  outcry  against  it,  as  that  Murray,  surrounded  with  the  rums 
and  buzzes  of  parsons  as  he  is,  should  have  the  audacity  to  publish  it 
— or  Sir  Mungo  Malagrowther  — 

Byron.  Who? 

Odoherty.  His  editor — now-a-days  commonly  called  Sir   Mungo 

*  Maginn  made  a  mistake  in  putting  such  a  \7ord  as  civilation  into  Byron's  mouth,  as  it 
was  one  which  he  (Maginn),  had  invented,  and  solely  used  for  a  long  time.  De  Quincey 
records  Maginn's  opinion  "that  no  man,  however  much  he  might  tend  to  civilization,  was  to 
be  regarded  as  having  absolutely  reached  its  apex  until  he  was  drunk  ;"  also  the  fact,  that,  after 
10  P.  M.,  civilization  being  an  odiously  long  word  to  utter,  it  might  be  abridged  to  civilation. 
Therefore,  in  De  Q,uincey's  neological  dictionary  of  English,  he  entered  it  thus  : — "  Civilation 
by  ellipsis,  or  more  properly  by  syncope,  or  vigorously  speaking,  by  hic-cup,  from  civiliza- 
tion."—M.. 


1822.]  DON   JUAN.  203 

Malagrowther.  I  say  it  is  really  astonishing  that  Murray  should 
print,  or  Sir  Mungo  have  the  face  not  to  cut  up,  a  book  so  destruc- 
tive of  every  feeling  which  we  have  been  taught  to  cherish. 

Byron.  Are  you  serious.  Ensign? 

Odoherty.   Serious  as  the  rock  of  Cashel. 

Byron.  I  did  not  expect  it.  I  thought  this  silly  outcry  about  Don 
Juan  and  Cain  was  confined  to  the  underlings  of  literature  ;  so  much 
so,  that  I  was  astonished  to  find  even  Jeffrey  joining  in  it — but  that 
you,  one  of  the  first  and  most  enlightened  men  of  the  age,  should 
adopt  it — that  Ensign  and  Adjutant  Morgan  Odoherty  should  be 
found  swelling  in  the  war-whoop  of  my  antagonist  Dr.  Southey,  is 
indeed  more  than  1  expected. 

Odoherty.  I  am  not  an  old  quiz,  like  Malagrowther  and  the  Laure- 
ate :  yet,  my  Lord  Byron,  I  am  a  man  and  an  Englishman,  (I  mean 
an  Irishman,)  and  disapprove  of  Don  Juan. 

Byron.  The  devil  ye  do  !  Why,  most  illustrious  rival  of  Dr. 
Magnus  Oglethorpe,  why '? 

Odoherty.  I  have  already  sufficiently  explained  myself. 

Byron.  You  have  uttered  nothing,  sir,  but  the  common  old  hum- 
bug. In  Don  Juan  I  meant  to  give  a  flowing,  free  satire  on  things  as 
they  are.  I  meant  to  call  people's  attention  to  the  realities  of  things. 
I  could  make  nothing  of  England  or  France.  There  every  thing  is 
convention — surface — cant.  I  had  recourse  to  the  regions  where 
nature  acts  more  vividly,  more  in  the  open  light  of  day.  I  meant  no 
harm,  upon  my  honor.  I  meant  but  to  do  what  any  other  man 
might  have  done  with  a  more  serious  face,  and  had  all  the  Hannah 
Mores  in  Europe  to  answer  his  Plaudite. 

Odoherty.  I  don't  follow  your  lordship. 

Byron.  Not  follow  me,  sir  1  Why,  what  can  be  more  plain  than 
my  intention  1  I  drew  a  lively  lad,  neglected  in  his  education,  strong 
in  his  passions,  active  in  his  body,  and  lively  in  his  brains ;  would 
you  have  had  me  make  him  look  as  wise  as  a  Quarterly  Reviewer  ? 
Every  boy  must  sow  his  wild  oats;  wait  till  Don  Juan  be  turned  of 
fifty,  and  if  I  don't  represent  him  as  one  of  the  gravest  and  most 
devout  Tories  in  the  world,  may  I  be  hanged.  As  yet  he  has  only 
been  what  Dr.  Southey  once  was,  "a  clever  boy,  thinking  upon  poli- 
tics (and  other  subjects)  as  those  who  are  boys  in  mind,  whatever 
their  age  may  be,  do  think."  Have  patience.  The  Don  may  be 
Lord  Chancellor  ere  he  dies. 

Odoherty.  The  serious  charge  is  your  warmth  of  coloring. 

Byron.  Look  at  Homer,  remember  the  cloud  scene.  Look  at  Vir- 
gil, remember  the  cave-scene.  Look  at  Milton,  remember  the  bower- 
scene,  the  scene  of  "  nothing  loth."  Why,  sir,  poets  are  like  their 
heroes,  and  poets  represent  such  matters  (which  all  poets  do  and 


204:  NOCTES   AMBEOSIAN^.  [July, 

must  represent)  more  or  less  warmly,  just  as  they  are  more  or  less 
men. 

Odoherty.  Well,  but  what  do  you  say  for  Cainl  'Tis  blas- 
phemous. 

Byron.  Not  intentionally,  at  least — but  I  cannot  see  that  it  is  so  at 
all.  You  know — for  I  suppose  you  know  theology  as  well  as  you 
know  everything  else. 

Odoherty.  Like  Dr.  Magee — an  old  friend  of  mine,  who  has  lately 
been  made  an  Archbishop.* 

Byron.  You  know  then  that  there  is  no  question  so  puzzling  in  all 
divinity — no  matter  under  what  light  you  view  it — as  the  origin  of 
evil.  There  is  no  theory  whatever — I  say  not  one — and  you  may 
take  your  countryman.  Archbishop  King's,  among  them,f  which  is 
not  liable  to  great  objection,  if  the  objectors  be  determined  to  cavil. 
Now  I  assert,  and  that  fearlessly,  that  it  is  quite  possible  to  reconcile 
my  scheme,  bating  a  few  poetical  flights  of  no  moment,  with  views 
and  feelings  perfectly  religious.  1  engage  to  write  a  commentary 
on  Cain,  proving  it  beyond  question  a  religious  poem. 

Odoherty.  Warburton  did  the  same  for  the  Essay  on  Man — but 
convinced  nobody.]; 

Byron.  And  yet  Warburton  was  a  Bishop — yea,  more  than  a 
bishop — one  of  your  brightest,  deepest,  profoundest,  most  brilliant 
theologians.  I  only  ask  you  to  extend  to  me  the  same  indulgence 
you  extend  to  Milton — ay,  even  to  Cumberland — if  his  Calvary  be 
still  extant. 

Odoherty.  Nay,  my  lord,  there  is  this  difference.  The  intention 
of  Milton  and  Cumberland  makes  a  vast  distinction.  They  wrote 
poems  to  promote  religion — your  lordship  wrote  

Byron.  Mr.  Odoherty,  I  presume — nay,  I  know — I  am  talking  to 
a  gentleman.  I  have  disclaimed  irreligious  intention,  and  I  demand^ 
as  a  gentleman,  to  be  believed.  Cain  is  like  all  poems  in  which 
spiritual  matters  are  introduced.  The  antagonist  of  Heaven — of 
whom  the  Prometheus  of  vEschylus  is  the .  prototype — cannot  be 
made  to  speak  in  such  terms,  as  may  not  be  perverted  by  those  who 
wish  to  pervert.  I  defy  any  man — I  repeat  it — I  defy  any  man  to 
show  me  a  speech — a  line  in  Cain,  which  is  not  defensible  on  the 

*  Dr.  William  Magee,  author  of  "Discourses  on  the  Scriptural  Doctrines  of  the  Atonement 
and  Sacrifice,"  (directed  against  the  tenets  of  the  Unitarians,)  after  having  been  Dean  of  Cork 
and  Bishop  of  Raphoe,  was  made  Archbishop  of  Dublin,  in  1822.     He  died  in  1831. — M. 

t  Dr.  William  King,  Archbishop  of  Dublin,  born  in  1651),  died  in  1729.  In  his  treatise  "  De 
Origine  Mali,"  or  the  origin  of  evil,  he  undertook  to  show  how  all  the  several  kinds  of  evil 
with  which  the  world  abounds  are  consistent  with  the  goodness  of  God,  and  may  be  accounted 
for  without  the  supposition  of  an  evil  principle. — M. 

t  Dr.  William  Warburton,  Bishop  of  Glocester,  (author  of  the  Divine  Legation  of  Moses,) 
published,  in  a  periodical  entitled  The  Works  of  the  Learned,  a  vindication  of  Pope,  who  had 
been  charged  with  having  evinced  a  tendency  to  Spinocism  and  naturalism,  in  his  Essay  on 
Man.  When  this  poem  was  translated  into  French,  it  had  been  skilfully  attacked,  on  the  above 
grounds,  by  Professor  Crousaz,  of  Switzerland.  Pope  eventually  declared  that  he  never  had  any 
intention  of  propagating  the  principles  of  Bolingbroke,  and  that  Warburton  had  made  his 
(Pope's)  views  clearer  even  to  himself ! — M. 


1822.]  HUMBUG   OF   REVIEWS.  205 

same  principle  as  the  haughty  speech  of  Satan,  in  the  fifth  book  of 
Milton — or  the  proud  defiance  of  Moloch  in  the  second.  In  both 
poets — I  beg  pardon — in  the  poet,  and  in  Cain,  speeches  torn  from 
the  context,  and  misinterpreted  by  the  malevolent  or  the  weak- 
minded,  may  be  made  to  prove  what  was  directly  contrary  to  the 
intention  of  the  writer. 

Odoherty.  To  be  sure,  as  Chief  Baron  O'Grady  says,  in  his  Letter 
to  Mr.  Gregory,  remove  the  words  "  the  fool  has  said  in  his  heart ;" 
and  you  can  prove  by  Scripture  that  "  there  is  no  God." 

Byron.  I  know  nothing  of  your  Chief  Baron,  but  what  he  says 
is  true^and  it  is  so,  that  I  have  been  criticised.  I  don't  complain  of 
Lord  Eldon.  Perhaps  it  became  his  high  station  to  deliver  the  judg- 
ment he  did — perhaps  it  was  right  he  should  bend  to  public  opinion 
— which  opinion,  however,  I  shall  for  ever  assert,  was  stimulated  by  a 
party  of  more  noise  than  number.  But  I  do  confess — for  I  was  born 
an  aristocrat — that  I  was  a  good  deal  pained  when  I  saw  my  books, 
in  consequence  of  his  decree,  degraded  to  be  published  in  sixpenny 
numbers  by  Benbow,  with  Lawrence's*  Lectures — Southey's  Wat 
Tyler — Paine's  Age  of  Reason — and  the  Chevalier  de  Faublas. 

Odoherty.  I  am  sorry  I  introduced  the  subject.  If  I  thought  I 
should  have  in  the  slightest  degree  annoyed  your  lordship  — 

Byron.  I  am  not  annoyed,  bless  your  soul ;  there  is  nothing  I  like 
better  than  free  discussion.  That,  you  know,  can  never  be,  except 
between  men  of  sense.  As  for  all  your  humbug  of  Reviews,  Maga- 
zines, &c.,  why,  you  are,  at  least,  as  much  as  any  man  alive,  up  to 
their  nothingness. 

Odoherty.  'Tis  the  proudest  of  my  reflections,  that  I  have  some- 
what contributed  to  make  people  see  what  complete  stuff  all  that 
affair  is. 

Byron.  I  admire  your  genius,  Mr.  Odoherty :  but  why  do  you 
claim  this  particular  merit  % 

Odoherty.  Merely  as  a  great  contributor  to  Blackwood.  That  work 
has  done  the  business. 

Byron.  As  how,  friend  Morgan  % 

Odoherty.  Call  another  flask,  and  I'll  tell  you — Ay,  now  fill  a 
bumper  to  old  Christopher. 

Byron.  With  three  times  three  with  all  my  heart.  The  immortal 
Kit  North!  ! !   !  ! !  !  ! !  {Bibunt  ambo.) 

Odoherty.  Why,  you  see,  what  with  utterly  squabashing  Jefl?"rey, 
and  what  with  giving  Malagrowther  an  odd  squeeze  or  so, — but  most 

*  Lawrence,  a  celebrated  anatomist  in  London,  whose  published  Lectures  w^ere  so  tinged  with 
materialism  that,  becoming  so  popular  as  to  be  printed,  the  law  declined  protecting  him,  on  the 
score  of  their  irreligion.  So,  Wat  Tyler,  an  early  poem  of  Southey's,  which  he  had  never  pub- 
lished, having  got  into  print,  the  law  did  not  allow  an  injunction  on  its  sale,  inasmuch  as  it 
was  a  republican  poem.  Iii  1836  Southey  included  Wat  Tyler  in  his  collected  works,  without 
altering  a  line  of  it,  and  it  certainly  does  not  appear  so  republican  as  was  originally  repre- 
sented.—M. 


206  NOCTES   A:MBK0SIAN^.  '  '         [July, 

of  all,  by  doing  all  that  ever  these  folks  could  do  in  one  Number, 
and  then  undoing  it  in  the  next, — puffing,  deriding,  sneering,  jeering, 
prosing,  piping,  and  so  forth,  he  has  really  taken  the  thing  into  his 
own  hands,  and  convinced  the  Brutum  Pecus  that  'tis  all  quackery 
and  humbug. 

Byron.  Himself  included  1 

Odoherty.  No — not  quite  that  neither.  As  to  two  or  three  prin- 
ciples— I  mean  religion,  loyalty,  and  the  like,  he  is  always  as  stiff  as 
a  poker ;  and  although  he  now  and  then  puts  in  puffs  on  mediocre 
fellows,  every  body  sees  they're  put  in  merely  to  fill  the  pages  ;  and 
the  moment  he  or  any  of  his  true  men  set  pen  to  paper,  the  effect  is 
instantaneous.  His  book  is  just  like  the  best  book  in  the  world — it 
contains  a  certain  portion  of  Balaam. 

Byron.  And  this  sort  of  course,  you  think,  has  enlightened  the 
public  1 

Odoherty.  Certain  and  sure  it  has.  People  have  learnt  the  great 
lesson,  that  Reviews,  and  indeed  all  periodicals,  merely  qua  such,  are 
nothing.  They  take  in  his  book  not  as  a  Review,  to  pick  up  opinions 
of  new  books  from  it,  nor  as  a  periodical,  to  read  themselves  asleep 
upon,  but  as  a  classical  work  which  happens  to  be  continued  from 
month  to  month  ; — a  real  Magazine  of  mirth,  misanthropy,  wit,  wis- 
dom, folly,  fiction,  fun,  festivity,  theology,  bruising,  and  thingumbob. 
He  unites  all  the  best  materials  of  the  Edinburgh,  the  Quarterly,  and 
the  Sporting  Magazine — the  literature  and  good  writing  of  the  first 
— the  information  and  orthodoxy  of  the  second,  and  the  flash  and 
trap  of  the  third. 

Byron.  You  speak  con  amore^  sir  :  Why  the  devil  am  I  cut  up  and 
parodied  in  Ebony  ? 

Odoherty.  Come,  come,  pop  such  questions  to  the  marines  !  Have 
you  ever  been  half  so  much  cut  up  there  as  I  have  been  %  Fill  your 
glass!  Here's  to  Humbug.  Three  times  three,  my  lord  !  No  two 
men  alive  should  fill  higher  to  that  toast  than  we  that  are  here  pre- 
sent, thank  God  ;  and  I'm  very  glad  to  be  here,  with  my  legs  under 
the  same  board  with  the  author  of  Cain  and  Don  Juan. 

Byron.  What,  after  abusing  them  both  so  savagely  just  this 
moment. 

Odoherty.  So  I  do  still ; — but  I  had  rather  have  written  a  page  of 
Juan  than  a  ton  of  Childe  Harold — that  was  too  great  a  bore  entirely. 

Byron.  Well, — waive  my  works  in  toto.  How  is  Sir  Walter 
Scott? 

Odoherty.  I  have  not  seen  him  for  nearly  six  months ;  but  he  is 
quite  well,  and  writing  Peveril  of  the  Peak ;  that  is,  if  he  be  the 
Author  of  Waverley. 

Byron.  Which  he  is. 

Odoherty,  I  won't  swear  to  that,  knowing  what  I  do  about  Anasta- 


1822.]  THE   PERIODICALS.  .  207 

sius.  Did  you  see  how  Hope  bristled  up  in  the  back  in  Blackwood, 
when  somebody,  I  forget  who,  perhaps  myself,  said  that  you  were 
guilty  of  that  most  admirable  book  ? 

Byron.  Yes, — but  no  matter.  Could  you  give  me  any  more  infor- 
mation de  re  periodicali,  as  the  Baron  of  Bradwardine  would  have 
said  ? 

Odoherty.  I  shall  sing  a  stave  touchant  that  point — 

1. 

0  !  gone  are  the  days,  when  the  censure  or  praise, 

Of  the  Monthly  was  heard  with  devotion  ; 
When  the  sight  of  the  blue  of  old  Griffith's  Review,* 

Set  each  heart  in  apit-a  pat  motion ; 
We  care  not  a  curse,  now,  for  better  or  worse. 

For  the  prate  of  the  maundering  old  mumper ; 
And,  since  it  is  dead, — why,  no  more  can  be  said, — 

Than  "  Destruction  to  Cant"  in  a  bumper. 

2. 
When  the  sense  of  the  town  had  the  Monthly  put  down, 

Mr.  Jeffrey  a  new  caper  started  : 
Every  fourth  of  a  year  he  sWore  to  appear. 

To  terrify  all  the  faint-hearted. 
Then  with  vigor  and  pith,  Brougham,  Jeffrey,  and  Smith, 

Began  to  belabor  the  natives  ; 
Who,  bother'd  at  first  by  their  bravo  and  burst. 

Sunk  under  the  scribblers  like  caitiffs. 

3. 

Quite  vex'd  at  their  blows,  Johnny  Murray  arose, 

Assisted  by  mild  Billy  Gifford — 
The  Edinburgh  work  he  squabash'd  like  a  Turk, 

So  that  folks  do  not  now  care  a  whiff  for't. 
But  soon  such  a  gang,  there  grew  up  slap-bang, 

Of  scribblers  and  nibblers  reviewing, 
That  people  got  sick  of  the  horrible  trick, 

And  it  almost  had  set  them  a-sp g. 

4. 
But  a  figure  of  light  soon  burst  on  their  sight. 

In  Bill  Ebony's  beautiful  pages — 
The  immortal  Kit  North  in  his  glory  came  forth, 

With  his  cycle  of  satellite  sages. 
He  can  can.t,  it  is  true — he  can  sport  a  review, 

Now  and  then,  when  it  suits  his  devices  ; 
But  who  trusts  to  his  prog  is  a  bothersome  dog, 

If  he  says  he  is  stingy  of  spices. 

Byron.  Not  a  bad  song !  Cazzo.  I  have  quite  lost  the  knack  of 
song- writing.     Tom  Moore  is  the  best  at  it  now  alive. 

*  Dr.  Griffith  -was  Editor  of  The  Monthly  Review  for  many  years. — The  Monthly  was  con- 
ducted by  Sir  Richard  Phillips. — M. 


208  NOCTES   AMBKOSIAN^.  [April, 

Odoherty.  The  present  company  excepted,  you  mean  ;  but  truly, 
my  lord,  I  don't  care  a  tester  for  that  piperly  poet  of  Green  Erin. 
I  don't  think  he  ever  wrote  one  real  good  song  in  his  days.  He 
wants  pith,  by  Jericho  !  and  simplicity,  and  straight-forward  meaning. 
He's  always  twining  and  whining.     Give  me  your  old  stave. 

Byron.  You  prefer  Burns,  perhaps,  now  you've  been  so  long  a 
Scotchman,  and  heard  all  their  eternal  puffing  of  one  another. 

Odoherty.  Poh !  poh !  I  was  too  old  a  cat  for  that  straw.  Burns 
wrote  five  or  six  good  things  ;  Tam  o'Shanter,  M'Pherson's  Lament, 
Farewell,  thou  fair  Earth,  Mary's  Dream,  the  Holy  Fair,  the  Stanzas 
to  a  Louse  on  a  Lady's  Bonnet,  and  perhaps  a  few  more ;  but  the 
most  of  his  verses  are  mere  manufacture — the  most  perfect  common- 
place about  love  and  bowers,  and  poverty,  and  so  forth.  And  as  for 
his  prose,  why,  Gad-a-mercy  !  'tis  execrable.  'Tis  worse  than  Hogg's 
worst,  or  Allan  Cunningham's  best.  His  letters  are  enough  to  make 
a  dog  sick. 

Byron.  Come,  you  are  too  severe ;  Burns  was  a  noble  fellow, 
although  Jeffi'ey  abused  him.  But  indeed  that  was  nothing.  After 
praising  the  Cockneys,  who  cares  what  he  reviles  % 

Odoherty.  Not  \. 

Byron.  No,  no  ;  I  don't  suspect  you  of  any  such  folly.  Pray, 
have  you  seen  any  of  our  Italian  Improvisatores  as  yet  %  What  do 
you  think  of  their  art  *? 

Odoherty.  That  I  can  beat  it. 

Byron.  In  English  or  Irish  ? 

Odoherty.  In  any  language  I  know — Latin  or  Greek,  if  you  like 
them. 

Byron.  Try  Latin,  then. 

Odoherty.  Here's  Ritson.  Turn  him  over  ;  I'll  translate  any  song 
you  like  off-hand. 

Byron.  Here,  take  this  one — "  Back  and  side  go  bare."  'Tis  not 
the  worse  for  having  a  bishop  for  its  father.* 

Odoherty.  Old  Still  must  have  been  a  hearty  cock, — here  goes. 
•Read  you  the  English,  and  I'll  chaunt  it  in  Latin,  f 

Byron  reads.  Cantat  Dohertiades. 
1.  1. 

Baeke  and  side  go  bare,  go  bare,  Sint  nuda  dorsum,  latera — 

Both  foot  and  hande  go  colde  :  Pes,  manus,  algens  sit ; 

But,  bellye,  God  sende  thee  good  ale  yenough.  Dura  ventri  veteris  copia 
Whether  it  be  newe  or  olde.  Zythi  uovive  fit. 

*  John  Still,  Bishop  of  Bath  and  Wells,  flourished  in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  and  died  in  1607. 
He  is  the  reputed  author  of  "  Gammer  Gurton's  Needle,"  a  dramatic  piece  of  low  humor,  very 
characteri.-;tic  of  the  manners  of  the  Englit^h  in  that  day.  The  fine  old  chant,  '"  Back  and  side 
go  bare,"  is  introduced  into  this  drama. — M. 

t  This  Latin  version  has  been  considered  one  of  Maginn's  best  translations.  It  gives  not  only 
the  actual  meaning,  but  the  measure,  with  rhymes  and  double  rhymes. — M. 


1822.] 


BISHOP    STILL  S    CHxiNT. 


209 


I  cannot  eat  but  lytle  meate. 

My  storaacke  is  not  good  ; 
But  siu'e  I  thinke  that  J  can  drynke 

With  him  that  weares  a  hood. 
Though  I  go  bare,  take  ye  no  care. 

I  am  nothing  a  colde  ; 
I  stuff  my  skyn  so  full  within, 

Of  jolly  good  ale  and  olde. 
Backe  and  side  go  bare,  go  bare, 

Both  foote  and  hande  go  colde  ; 
But,  bellye,  God  sende  thee  good  ale  enoughe, 

"Whether  it  be  newe  or  olde. 


ISTon  possum  multum  edere, 

Quia  stomachus  est  nullus  ; 
Sed  volo  vel  monacho  bibere 

Quanquam  sit  huic  cueullus. 
Et  quamvis  uudus  ambulo, 

De  frigore  non  est  metus ; 
Quia  semper  Zytho  vetulo 

Ventrieulus  est  impletus. 
Sint  nuda  dorsum,  latera — 

Pes,  manus,  algens  sit ; 
Dum  ventri  veteris  eopia 

Zythi  novive  fit. 


I  love  no  rost,  but  a  nut-browne  toste, 

And  a  crab  laid  in  the  fyre  ; 
A  little  breade  shall  do  me  stead, 

Much  breade  I  not  desyre. 
No  frost  nor  snow,  nor  wiude,  I  ti'owe, 

Can  hurt  me  if  I  wolde  ; 
I  am  so  wrapt,  and  throwly  lapt, 

Of  jolly  good  ale  and  olde, 
Backe  and  side  go  bare,  &c. 

3. 
And  Tyb,  ray  wyfe,  that,  as  her  lyfe, 

Loveth  well  good  ale  to  seeke  ; 
Full  oft  drynkes  shee,  tyll  ye  may  see 

The  teares  run  down  her  cheeke : 
Then  dowth  she  trowle  to  mee  the  boule, 

Even  as  a  mault-worme  shuld ; 
And  sayth,  "  Sweete  hart,  1  took  my  parte 

Of  this  jolly  good  ale  and  olde." 
Back  and  side  go  bare,  &c. 

4. 
Now  let  them  drynke,  till  they  nod  and  wynke, 

Even  as  good  felowes  should  doe : 
They  shall  not  mysse  to  have  the  blysse 

Good  ale  doth  briuge  men  to. 
And  all  poore  soules  that  have  seowr'd  boules, 

Or  have  them  lustely  trolde, 
God  save  the  lyves  of  them  and  their  wy ves, 

Whether  they  be  yonge  or  old. 
Backe  and  syde  go  bare,  &c. 


Assatum  nolo — tostum  volo — 

Vel  pomum  igni  situm  ; 
Ml  pane  careo — parvum  habeo 

Pro  pane  appetitum. 
Me  gelu,  nix,  vel  ventus  vix 

Afficerent  injuria ; 
Heec  sperno,  ni  adesset  mi 

Zythi  veteris  penuria. 
Sint  nuda,  &c. 


Et  uxor  Tybie,  qui  semper  sibi 

Vult  quserere  Zythum  bene, 
Ebibit  hsee  perssepe,  nee 

Sistit,  dum  madeant  gense. 
Et  mihi  tum  dat  cantharum, 

Sic  mores  sunt  bibosi ; 
Et  dicit  "  Cor,  en  !  impleor 

Zythi  duleis  et  annosi." 
Sint  nuda,  (fee. 

4. 
Nunc  ebibant,  donee  nictant 

Ut  decet  virum  bonum  ; 
Felicitatis  habebunt  satis, 

Nam  Zythi  hoc  est  donum. 
Et  omnes  hi,  qui  canthari 

Sunt  haustibus  Isetati, 
Atque  uxores  vel  juniores 

Vel  senes,  Diis  sint  grati 
Sint  nuda,  <fec. 


Byron.  Bravo — bravissimo  ! — why,  you  would  beat  old   Camillo 
Querno  if  you  would  only  learn  Italian.* 

Odoherty.  I  intend  to  learn  it  between  this  and  the  end  of  the 


*  Camillo  Q,-uerno  was  a  Neapolitan  poet  of  the  15th  century,  -who  acquired  great  fame  by- 
Ms  faculty  for  extempore  versification,  and  obtained  the  name  (first  given  him  by  some  of  his 
convivial  friends,  while  at  Rome,  in  1514)  of  Arch-Poet.  Leo  X.  was  much  pleased  with  his 
buffoonery,  and  often  admitted  him  to  his  table.    He  died  in  1528. — M, 


210  NOCTES  AMBROSIAN^.  [July, 

week.  There  is  no  language  on  the  face  of  the  earth  I  could  not 
learn  m  three  clays, — except  Sanscrit,  which  took  me  a  week.*  It 
took  Marsham  of  Serampore  seven  years.  Would  your  lordship 
wish  to  hear  a  Sanscrit  ode  I  wrote  to  A.  W.  Schlegel  1 

Byron.  No,  thank  you,  not  just  now.  You  are  not  doing  the 
Lacryma  justice. 

Odoherti/.  Curse  it, — it  is  getting  cold  on  my  stomach.  Is  there 
no  more  stout  potation  in  the  house  1 

Byron.  Brandy,  I  presume, — but  the  sugar  is  execrable. 

Odoherty.  No  matter,  it  makes  superb  grog, — almost  as  good  as 
rum — far  better  than  whisky.     Have  you  any  objection,  Byron  ? 

Byron.  Not  the  least  j  whatever  is  agreeable  to  you.     Hola ! — 

Enter  waiter — exits — and  returns  with  a  skin  of  brandy. 

Odoherty.  Ay,  this  skin  is  a  pretty  thing.  It  puts  a  man  instinc- 
tively in  mind  of  a  skinful.  Gargle  it  most  delicately.  Flow,  thou 
regal  amber  stream.  Talk  of  the  Falls  of  the  Rhone  in  comparison 
with  such  a  cascade  as  this  !  Here — water — aqua  pura.  Ay,  that 
will  do.  You  are  putting  too  much  water,  my  lord — it  will  rise  on 
your  stomach,  as  old  Doctor  Rumsnout  often  told  me. 

Byron.  Nay,  mix  as  you  please,  and  let  me  settle  my  own  tipple. 

Odoherty.  Oh  !  of  course,  freedom  of  will.  But  this  is  far  supe- 
rior to  the  rascally  quaff  we  have  been  drinking.  By  all  accounts 
your  lordship  leads  a  gay  life  here. 

Byron.  Not  more  gay  than  you  have  led  elsewhere.  But  if  you 
allude  to  what  you  see  in  the  papers,  and  the  travels  of  impertinent 
and  underbred  tourists ; — underbred  they  must  be,  else  they  would 
not  j^ublish  anecdotes  of  the  private  life  of  any  gentleman,  to  satisfy 
the  multitude,  even  if  they  were  true— nothing  can  be  more  false  or 
ridiculous.  I  sedulously  cut  the  English  here,  on  purpose  to  avoid 
being  made  food  for  journals,  and  Balaam  to  swell  the  pages  of  gab- 
bling tourists.  Indeed,  I  have  not  been  in  general  treated  well  by 
these  people.    Then  there  are  my  Memoirs,  publ  ished  by  Colburn 

Odoherty.  A  most  audacious  imposture  !  He  had  heard  the  report 
of  your  having  given  your  Life  to  Moore,  and,  accordingly,  thinking 
he  might  make  a  good  thing  of  it,  he  hires  at  once  Dictionary  Watkins 
to  set  about  Memoirs,f  which,  to  give  old  Gropius  credit  for  indus- 
try, he  touched  up  in  a  fortnight ;  and  advertised  it  was,  as  the 
Memoirs  of  Lord  B.,  particularly  in  the  country  papers. 

Byron.  Industry  !  it  was  only  the  industry  of  the  scissors,  for  half 
the  book  is  merely  cut  out  of  the  Peerage,  giving  an  account  of  my 

*  Maginn  scarcely  exaggerated  his  wondrous  faculty  in  acquiring  a  knowledge  of  languages. 
Jle  was  acquainted  with  nearly  all  the  dead,  and  most  of  the  living  tongues.— M. 

t  Dr.  Watkins  was  a  sort  of  general  life-writer.  He  compiled  Memoirs  of  Byron,  which 
sold  very  well,  and  wrote  a  Life  of  Sheridan,  composed  from  newspaper  paragraphs,  play-books, 
and  Parliamentary  reports. — M. 


1822.]  BTEON   AND   BLACKWOOD.  211 

old  grim  ancestors — and  newspapers,  magazines,  and  other  authentic 
vehicles  of  intelligence  supply  the  rest. 

Odoherty.  I  can  assure  you,  my  lord,  it  imposed  on  many  simple, 
chuckleheaded,  open-mouthed  people,  as  your  Autobiography. 

Byron.  Impossible.  An  idiot  must  have  known  that  I  had  not 
any  thing  to  do  with  it,  even  from  its  style. 

Odoherty.  Style — as  to  style,  that  is  all  fudge.  I  myself  have 
written  in  all  kind  of  styles  from  Burke  to  Jeremy  Bentham.  But 
I  assure  your  lordship  the  mob  charge  you  with  these  Memoirs. 

Byron.  Why,  really  some  people  believe  me  capable  of  any  kind 
of  stuff.  You  remember  I  was  accused  of  writing  puffs  for  Day  and 
Martin. 

Odoherty.  A  calumny,  I  know^  my  dear  Byron,  for  /  am  myself 
author  of  them.  By  the  way,  have  you  heard  the  epigram  on  your 
disclaimer  ? 

Byron.  No — tell  it  me — I  hope  it  is  good. 

Odoherty.  You  shall  judge. 

ON    READING    THE    APPENDIX    TO    LORD    BYRON's    TRAGEDY  OF    THE    TWO 

FOSCARI. 

Is  Byron  surprised  that  his  enemies  say 

He  makes  puffing  verses  for  Martin  and  Day  ? 

Why,  what  other  task  could  his  lordsbip  take  part  in 

More  fit  than  the  service  of  Day,  and  of  Martin  ? 

So  shiniag,  so  dark — all  his  writing  displays 

A  type  of  this  liquid  of  Martin  and  Day's — 

Gouvernantes — Kings — laurel-crown'd  Poets  attacking — 

Oh !  he's  master  complete  of  the  science  of  Blacking ! 

Byron.  No  great  affair.  But  there  are  "  many  more  too  long"  to 
trouble  you  with,  which  the  public  give  me  credit  for. 

Odoherty.  As  for  instance,  the  attack  on  Ebony.  Give  me  a  speci- 
men of  that — or  give  me  the  thing  itself,  and  I  shall  make  him 
print  it. 

Byron.  It  is  too  stale  now ;  besides,  I  have  quite  forgotten  it. 
Murray  has  the  only  copy  I  know  of — and*  I  shall  write  to  him  to 
give  it  to  you  on  your  return.* 

Odoherty.  Thank  you — and  a  copy  of  the  Irish  Advent,  too  1 

Byron.  Hush  !  Hush  ! 

Odoherty.  You  need  not  be  afraid  of  me,  my  lord,  I  have  seen  it ; 
there  are  a  dozen  copies  in  existence. 

Byron.  Let's  change  the  subject.  Giving  my  Memoirs  was  not 
the  first  trick  Colburn  served  me.  You  remember  the  Vampire 
affair. 

*  The  Letter  to  the  Editor  of  Blackwood^s  Magazine  was  first  printed  in  1830,  in  Moore's 
Byron.— M. 


212  NOCTES   AIUBROSIANiE.  [July, 

Odoherty.  Ah  !  poor  Jack  Polidori !  Lord  rest  him.  Polidori 
was  bribed  on  the  occasion."^ 

Byron.  I  am  sorry  for  it.  I  once  thought  him  a  fair  fellow.  But 
you  see  in  this  catchpenny  Life  how  Colburn's  hack  pretends  to 
censure  the  forgery,  though  his  employer  was  the  sole  planner  and 
manager  of  the  affair — and  it  was  he  who  got  some  people  in  the 
Row  to  father  the  published  pamphlet — the  separate  one,  you  know. 

Odoherty.  Ay — and  I  heard,  on  authority  which  I  believe,  that 
Colburn  cancelled  a  disavowal  of  your  being  the  author,  which  some 
person  had  written  and  prefixed  to  the  notice  of  the  Vampire  in  the 
New  Monthly. 

Byron.  Hand  me  the  brandy,  that  I  may  wash  my  mouth  after 
mentioning  such  things.     How  is  the  New  Monthly  1 

Odoherty.  Dying  hard.  Nobody  of  talent  about  it  except  Camp- 
bell himself,  who  is  too  lazy.  As  for  **-5t****  •«:****  ***** 
and  other  mere  asses  — 

Byron.  I  have  never  heard  of  the  worthies  you  miention. 

Odoherty.  By  jingo,  I  am  sure  of  that.  ****  is  a  great  officer. 
He  sits  in  the  theatre  taking  notes,  as  magisterially  as  a  judge  does 
on  a  trial,  and  with  as  much  dignity. 

Byron.  Transeat.  Murray  sends  me  shoals  of  periodicals.  There 
appears  to  be  a  swarm  of  them  lately,  and  I  find  I  am  a  popular 
subject  for  all.  Not  a  fellow  takes  pen  in  hand  without  criticising 
me. 

Odoherty.  Oxoniensis  gave  you,  or  rather  Murray,  a  good  rib- 
roasting.     I  trouble  you  for  the  bottle. 

Byron.  I  think  too  harshly — but  th€  Oxonians  are  great  big-wigs. 

Odoherty.  Oh !  thundering  tearers,  in  their  own  opinion.  I 
remember  ****,  who,  n'importe — going  into  Covent  Garden  a  few 
years  ago,  simultaneously  with  the  Prince  Regent.  The  audience, 
of  course,  rose  out  of  respect  to  his  Royal  Highness,  and  remained 
for  some  time  standing ;  on  which  the  delighted  Tyro — hot  from 
Rhedycina,  exclaimed — God  bless  my  soul — these  good  people,  who 
mean  well,  I  dare  say,  have  been  informed  that  I  am  in  the  first  class, 
and  about  to  stand  for  Oriel,  f 

Byron.  Ha !  ha !  ha !  I  shall,  however,  look  back  always  with 
pleasure  to  the  days. 

When  smitten  first  with  sacred  love  of  song, 
I  roamed  old  Oxford's  hoary  piles  among  ',\ 

*  When  Byron  was  in  Switzerland,  in  1816,  the  Shelleys  and  himself  agreed  that  each 
should  write  a  prose  story.  Mrs.  Shelley  produced  ''  Frankenstein,"  Byron  wrote  a  fragment, 
and  Dr.  Polidori,  (his  physician,)  wrote  a  tale  called  "  The  Vampire,"  which  has  repeatedly 
been  dramatized,  although  very  deficient  in  literary  merit.  When  Polidori  came  to  Eng- 
land, he  published  this  story  as  Byron's,  which  drew  a  disclaimer  from  the  noble  poet. 
Polidori  finally  perished  by  his  own  hand. — M. 

t  For  a  Fellowship  ?— M. 

i  Maginn  has  a,  lapsus  penncE  here.  It  was  not  "old  Oxford's  hoary  piles  among"  which 
Byron  roamed.    He  was  a  member  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge. — M. 


1822.]  JOHN   CLAEE.  213 

and  forgive  Oxoniensis,  whom  I  know.  But  let  us  return.  I  do  not 
want  information  about  the  great  magnates  of  your  English  literature 
— or  those  reputed  such — but  I  should  wish  to  hear  something 
of  the  minors — the  insect  tribes.  Who  are  your  magazine,  &c., 
scribblers  *? 

Odoherty.  Innumerable  as  the  snipes  in  the  bog  of  Allen.  There 
is  Clare  .poetizing  for  the  London. 

Byron.  An  over-puifed  youth,  that  plough-boy  appears  to  be. 

Odoherty.  He  may  have  written  some  pretty  things,  but  he  is 
taken  now  to  slum,  scissoring,  namby-pamby,  and  is  quite  spoiled. 
But  it  is  a  good  thing  to  have  a  good  conceit  of  one's  self,  and  that's 
the  boy  who  has  it.  He  has  pitted  himself  against  Hogg,  whom  he 
considers  as  his  inferior. 

Byron.  ■  Quelle  gloire !  they  should  have  an  amabean  contention, 
like  the  clowns  in  Virgil.  Suggest  this  to  North,  with  my  compli- 
ments. 

Odoherty.  Surely — it  is  a  good  hint.  But  Clare  never  will  write 
any  thing  like  the  "  Dedication  to  Mr.  Grieve,"  or  "  The  Flying 
Tailor  of  Ettrick,"  until  he  is  boiled  again. 

Byron.  I  am  told  he  is  a  delicate  retiring  young  man.  And  that's 
more  than  can  be  said  of  you,  Ensign  and  Adjutant.  You  have  been 
always  too  much  a  lady's  man. 

Odoherty.  Ay, — and  so  has  somebody  else  who  shall  be  nameless. 
I  have  had,  I  take  it,  somev^^here  about  144  pretty  little  bantlings — 
God  bless  them — of  all  colors  in  various  quarters  of  the  globe. 

Byron,  You  would  be  a  useful  man  in  a  new  colony.  Why  don't 
you  take  the  Quarterly  hint,  and  settle  in  Shoulder  of  Mutton  Bay, 
Van  Diemen's  Land  ? 

Odoherty.  Thank  you  for  the  hint — as  much  as  to  say,  I  ought  to  be 
sent  across  the  water  to  Botany.  But  to  the  insects.  Taylor,  also, 
its  publisher,  is  a  writer  for  the  London.  He  continues  Johnson's 
Lives  of  the  Poets  ! 

Byron.  Surely  you  joke.*  It  is  as  good  a  jest  as  if  Hazlitt  were 
to  take  it  into  his  head  to  continue  Chesterfield. 

Odoherty.  Yet  such  is  the  fact.  But  don't  mention  it ;  for  Taylor, 
who  really  is  a  decent  fellow,  wishes  it  to  be  kept  secret,  being 
heartily  sick  of  the  concern.  There  are  fifty  other  "  Gentlemen  of 
the.  Press,"  but  really  they  are  too  obscure  to  bother  your  lordship 
with.  Some  new  periodical — name  unknown — is  supported  by 
Procter,  the  great  tragedian. 

Byron.  Nay,  I  am  jealous  of  Cornwall,  as  of  a  superior  poet.  His 
Mirandola  floated  proudly  through  the  theatre.  My  Faliero  was 
damned. 

*  The   continuation   was  -written,    not   by  John  Taylor,  but   by.  Gary,  the  translator  of 
Dante.— M. 


214  NOCTES   AlEBEOSIAN^.  [July, 

Odoherty.  I  know  it  was  d ^d  ungenteel  in  Elliston  to  put  it  in 

the  way  of  being  so.*  But  there  is  no  making  a  silk  purse  out  of  a 
sow's  ear. 

B^on.  How  is  my  old  friend,  "  My  Grandmamma's  Review,  the 
British  f ' 

Odoherty.  Just  as  merry  and  jocular  as  ever— -but  the  British 
Critic  is  dying.  Rivington  has  started  the  Monthly  Literary  Censor, 
it  is  said,  to  supersede  it. 

Byron.  And  my  old  foe,  the  Literary  Gazette  ? 

Odoherty.  Doing  well.  But  what  need  you  be  so  thin-skinned  as 
to  mind  such  little  flea-bites  ? 

Byron.  Flehit  et  insignis  tota  cantabitur  urbe.  Faith,  I  don't  like 
to  be  pestered  with  impunity.     Has  it  any  rivals  ? 

Odoherty.  Lots.  Valpy  setup  the  Museum,  a  weekly  paper,f  the 
other  day,  against  it.  When  I  tell  you  that  black-letter  Tom 
Fogrum  DibdinJ;  is  the  chief  hand,  I  need  not  add  that  it  is  dull  and 
harmless. 

Byron.  No — that's  pretty  evident.  But  truce  with  periodical 
chit-chat. 

Odoherty.  Shall  I  give  you  news  from  Parnassus  % 

Byron.  No — no — no — I  am  sick  of  that.  Did  you  see  my  Wer- 
ner and  my  New  Mystery  '? 

Odoherty.  Yes — Murray  showed  them  to  me  in  sheets. 

Byron.  Well,  what  did  you  think  of  them  % 

Odoherty.  Like  every  thing  that  comes  from  your  lordship's  pen, 
the}^  are  tinged  with  the  ethereal  hues  of  genius, — and  perfumed  with 
fragrance  of  the  flowers  that  grow  upon  the  brink  of  Helicon. 

Byron.  Ho  !  I  see,  my  friend,  you  have  joined  the  Irish  school  of 
oratory.  But  as  that  goes  for  nothing,  what  do  you,  without  trope  or 
figure,  think  of  them  1 

Odoherty.  Seriously,  my  lord,  I  admire  them  when  they  are  good, 
and  dislike  them  when  they  are  bad.  [Aside.) — That  is,  I  like  five 
pages,  and  dislike  fifty.  {To  Lord  B.) — But,  my  lord,  why  do  you 
not  try  your  hand  at  your  own  old  style — the  tale — the  occasional 
poetry  ;  you  know  what  I  mean  1 

*  As  the  law  then  stood,  once  that  a  play  was  printed,  a  manager  might  put  it  on  the  stage, 
without  payment  to  the  author,  or  even  asking  his  permission.  Elliston,  when  manager  of 
Drury  Lane,  in  1821,  produced  "  Marino  Faliero,"  though  Byron,  in  the  preface,  had  said  that 
it  was  neither  intended  nor  written  for  the  stage.     It  did  not  succeed  in  representation. — M. 

t  The  British  Review,  British  Critic,  Monthly  Literary  Censor,  and  Maseurn,  have  long 
been  of  the  past. — M. 

X  Thomas  Frognall  Dibdin,  nephew  of  the  song-writer,  was  a  zealous  bibliographer. 
Originally  intended  for  the  law,  he  entered  the  church  in  1804.  His  "Bibliomania,"  which 
at  once  established  his  character  as  a  writer,  was  published  in  1809,  and  was  followed  by  a 
variety  of  books,  on  a  great  many  subjects.  Of  these,  the  most  remarkable  is  a  "  Biographical, 
Antiquarian,  and  Picturesque  Tour,"  (on  the  Continent,  in  1818),  and  his  "Reminiscences  of 
a  Literary  Life,"  in  1836.  He  was  one  of  the  founders  of  the  Roxburghe  Club,  in  1812,  and 
died  in  1847,  aged  seventy-two.  I  knew  him  in  his  later  years,  and  found  him  full  of  literary 
information,  and  as  eager  to  communicate  as  I  was  to  receive  it.  He  was  small  in  stature, 
with  a  countenance  expressive  of  much  firmness,  and  a  profusion  of  gray  hair. — M. 


1822.]  ISIVIAIL   FITZ-ADAM.  215 

Byron.  Because  I  am  sick  of  being  imitated.  I  revolt  at  the  idea 
of  the  lower  orders  making  desperate  attempts  to  climb  the  arduous 
mount.  I  have  been  publicly  accused  of  seducing,  by  my  example, 
youths 

Doom'd  their  fathers'  hopes  to  cross, 
To  pen  a  stanza  when  they  should  engross. 

And  I  shall  not, — at  least  just  now  I  think  I  shall  not — lead  the  way 
for  sentimental  and  poetical  hard-handed  and  hard-headed  good  people 
to  follow.  There  is  no  danger  of  their  following  me  into  the  lofty 
region  of  tragedy. 

Odoherty.  Whew !  Why,  you  are  playing  the  aristocrat  with  a 
vengeance.  There  is,  however,  one  lowly  poet  whom  I  would  recom- 
mend to  your  attention. 

Byron.  Whom  1 

Odoherty.  He  is  so  modest,  that  he  does  not  wish  his  name  to  be 
mentioned,  and  writes  his  "  lays"  under  the  title  of  Ismail  Fitz- 
Adam.* 

Byron.  I  never  heard  of  him. 

Odoherty.  I  did  not  imagine  you  did  :  and  yet  he  has  written  some 
things  which  would  not  have  disgraced  the  pen  of  a  Byron.  I  could 
not  say  more  of  any  man,  [Lord  B.  bows  and  smiles.)  Nay,  my  lord, 
I  ain  quite  in  earnest ;  and  though  very  poor,  and  only  a  common 
sailor,  he  has  that  spirit  of  independence  which  I  hope  will  always 
animate  our  navy,  and  refuses  all  direct  pecuniary  assistance. 

Byron.  What,  in  heroics  again  !  But  he  is  quite  right.  Do  his 
books  sell? 

Odoherty.  Not  as  they  ought — very  slowly. 

Byron.  I  am  sorry  for  it.  On  your  return,  bid  Murray  put  my 
name  down  for  fifty  copies. 

Odoherty.  You  were  always  a  gentleman,  my  lord  :  but  the  bottle 
is  out,  and  I  am  some  hundred  yards  distant  from  civilation  yet. 

Byron.  Pardon  me — do  as  you  like ;  but  I  shall  not  drink  any 
more. 

Odoherty.  Not  till  the  next  time,  you  mean.  Could  I  get  a  song 
out  of  your  lordship  '? 

Byron.  On  what  subject  ? 

Odoherty.  On  any.  Parody  one  of  your  own  serious  humbugs. 
Suppose — "  There's  not  a  joy  that  life  can  give." 

Byron.  Very  well — here  goes — accompany  me  on  the  pipes,  which 
I  see  you  have  brought  with  you  to  alarm  the  Italians,  f 

*  In  1820,  Ismail  Fitz-Adam  published  a  spirited  poam  called  "The  Harp  of  the  Desert," 
descriptive  of  the  battle  of  Algiers.  In  1821,  he  brought  out  "  Lays  on  Land,"  which  attracted 
considerable  notice.  In  June,  1823,  he  died.  This  author's  real  name  was  John  Macken,  and 
he  was  a  native  of  Ireland.  Although  of  respectable  family  and  classically  educated,  he 
served  as  a  common  sailor  in  the  Battle  of  Algiers,  in  1816. — M. 

t  The  bag-pipes  are  nearly  as  well  known,  and  as  much  played  on,  in  the  North  of  Italy,  as 
in  Scotland. — IM 


216  NOCTES  AMBEOSIAN^.  [July, 

SONG. 

there's  not  a  joy  that  life  can  give,^  &;c. 

Tune — Grand  March  in  Scipio. 

1. 

There  s  not  a  joy  that  wine  can  give  like  that  it  takes  away, 

"When  slight  intoxication  yields  to  drunkenness  the  sway, 

'Tis  not  that  youth's  smooth  cheek  its  blush  surrenders  to  the  nose , 

But  the  stomach  turns,  the  forehead  burns,  and  all  our  pleasure  goes. 

2. 
Then  the  few,  who  still  can  keep  their  chairs  amid  the  smash'd  decanters, 
Who  wanton  still  in  witless  jokes,  and  laugh  at  pointless  banters — 
The  magnet  of  their  course  is  gone — for,  let  them  try  to  walk, 
Their  legs,  they  speedily  will  find  as  jointless  as  their  talk. 

3. 

Then  the  mortal  hotness  of  the  brain,  like  hell  itself,  is  burning, 

It  cannot  feel,  nor  dream,  nor  think — 'tis  whizzing,  blazing,  turning — 

The  heavy  loet,  or  port,  or  rum,  has  mingled  with  our  tears, 

And  if  by  chance  we're  weeping  drunk,  each  drop  our  cheek-bone  sears. 

4. 

Though  fun  still  flow  from  fluent  lips,\  and  jokes  confuse  our  noddles 
Through  midnight  hours,  while  punch  our  powers  insidiously  enfuddles, 
^Tis  but  as  ivy  leaves  were  worn  by  Bacchanals  of  yore. 
To  make  them  still  look  fresh  and  gay  while  rolling  on  the  floor. 

5. 
Oh!  could  I  walk  as  I  have  walk'd,  or  see  as  I  have  seen  ; 
Or  even  roll  as  I  have  done  on  many  a  carpet  green — 
As  port  at  Highland  inn  seems  sound,  all  corkish  though  it  be, 
So  would  I  the  Borachio  kiss,  and  get  blind  drunk  with  thee. 

Odoherty.  Excellent — most  excellent. 

Byron.  Nay,  I  don't  shine  in  parody — Apropos,  de  bottes — Do 
you  know  any  thing  of  Bowles  1 

Odoherty.  Your  antagonist  ? 

Byron.  Yes. 

Odoherty.  I  know  he's  a  most  excellent  and  elegant  gentleman,  who 
gave  your  lordship  some  rubbers.f 

Byron.  I  flatter  myself  he  had  not  the  game  altogether  in  his  own 

*  The  actual  title  of  these  "  Stanzas  for  Music,"  (as  they  are  called  in  Byron's  Poems,)  is 
not  correctly  given  here.     The  first  stanza  runs  thus  : 

"  There's  not  a  joy  the  world  can  give  like  that  it  takes  away. 
When  the  glow  of  early  thought  declines  in  feeling's  dull  decay ; 
'Tis  not  on  youth's  smooth  cheek  the  blush  alone,  which  fades  so  fast, 
But  the  tender  bloom  of  heart  is  gone,  ere  youth  itself  be  past." 
These  lines  bear  date  March,  1815. — M. 

t  The  ipsisima,  verba  are  "  Though  wit  may  flash  from  fluent  lips." — M. 
t  One  of  Bowles's  pamphlets,  during  the  controversy  with  Byron,  on  the  merits  of  Pope,  as  a 
poet,  had  the  motto  "He  who  plays  at  Bowles  must  expect  rubbers,'''' — This  was  about  the 
best  thing  in  the  work.— M. 


1822.]  WILLIAM   L.   BOWLES.  217 

liands.  He,  indeed,  is  a  gentlemanlike  man,  and  so  was  Ali  Pacha 
— but  a  heretic  with  respect  to  Pope.  By-the-by,  is  not  Murray 
going  to  give  a  new  edition  of  the  great  Ethic,  the  Bard  of  Twick- 
enham 1 

Odoherty.  No,  not  now.  He  was,  but  ia  th«  mean  time  Roscoe, 
the  gillyiower  of  Liverpool,  announced  his  intentix^n  of  coming  forth 
' — and  Murray's  editor  declined.  His  Western  Majesty,  however, 
took  the  merit  of  declining  it  himself,  and  made  a  great  matter  of 
his  condescension  to  Roscoe,  who  swallowed  it.  In  the^  meantime, 
one  of  Murray's  huff-caps  cut  Roscoe  to  pieces,  in  the  review  of 
Washington  Irving's  Sketch  Book,  in  the  Quarterly. 

Byron.  Ha  !  ha  !  Well  done,  Joannes  de  Moravia.  But  is  Bowles 
as  thin-skinned  as  ever  with  respect  to  criticism  ? 

Odoherty,  No — I  should  think  not.  Tickler,  at  Ambrose's,  drew 
rather  a  droll  description  of  him  the  other  night,  painting  him  in  a 
shovel-hat,  &c,,  which  somehow  or  other  got  into  print,  and  Bowles 
was  quite  tickled  by  it. 

Byron,  The  devil  he  was ! 

Odoherty.  Ay,  and  accepted  the  office  of  bottle-holder  to  North,  in 
the  expected  turn-up  between  Christopher  and  Tom  Moore,*  in  the 
most  handsome  manner  possible,  chanting  a  la  Pistol, 

Thou  hast  produced  me  in  a  gown  and  band, 

And  shovel,  oh  I  sublimest  Christopher, 

And  I  shall  now  thy  bottle  holder  be, 

Betting  my  shovel  to  a  'prentice  cap, 

That  neither  Tom  nor  Byron  [jneaniny  you^my  lord,'\  will  stand  up 

A  single  moment  'gainst  your  powerful  facers, 

When  you  set  to  in  fistic  combat  fairly. 

But  now  that  I  have  told  you  so  much  about  British  literature,  give 
me  something  of  the  literature  of  this,  I  am  sorry  to  say  it,  your 
adopted  country. 

Byron.  I  might  perhaps  shock  your  political  principles. 

Odoherty,  1  have  not  any.     So  push  on. 

Byron.  This  poor  country  is  so  misgoverned  — 

Odoherty.  Ay,  so  your  man  Hobhouse  says  — 

Byron.  What,  Hobbio — mobbio — Psha  !  But  really  the  Austrian 
domination  is  so  abom —  {■[jrft  speaking.) 

*  Blackwood,  for  January.  18-22,  opened  with  a  truculent  Preface,  in  very  large  type,  in  -which 
Christopher  North  stated  that  he  happened  to  know  that  Moore  had  written  a  satirical  poem  on 
the  Magfazine  and  its  contributors,  and  recommended  him  not  to  publish  it;  adding  that,  if  he 
did,  North  would  republish  it,  so  as  to  fill  the  right-hand  columns  of  about  a  dozen  pages  of  the 
Magazine,  and  to  fill  the  left-hand  column  with  original  verses,  on  the  same  measure,  (what- 
ever that  might  be)  upon  Moore.  To  have  fair  play  in  this  set-to,  Christopher  suggested  that 
umpires  be  appointed  from  among  the  friends  of  the  distinguished  combatants, — '"We  appoint 
for  ourselves  Neat  [the  pugilist]  and  the  Rev.  William  Lisle  Bowles— and  we  suggest  to  Moore, 
in  the  true  spirit  of  British  courage,  Gas  [also  a  bozer]  and  Mr.  Montgomery,  the  "  author  of 
the  World  before  the  Flood."  In  the  words  of  the  Ring,  I  have  to  state  that  Moore  did  not 
come  to  tlie  scratch ! — M. 

VOL.    I.  10 


218  NOCTES   AJ-IBKOSIANJE.  [July, 

SEU  PROPINATIO  POETICA  NORTH!.* 

Come,  Morgan,  fill  up  my  boy,  handle  the  ladle, 

The  brat  in  old  Ireland  is  sent  to  the  cradle — 

Get  out  of  those  dumps,  man,  they  hurt  soul  and  body — 

Put  a  stick  in  the  bowl,  my  boy,  push  round  the  toddy. 

That's  right,  my  brave  Ensign,  what  spirit  now  lightens 
From  out  your  two  eyes — how  your  brow  it  up-brightens — 
You  now  look  yourself,  man,  and  not  a  la  Werter, 
"When  you  near  blew  your  brains  out  for  Mrs.  M'Whirter. 

And  now  since  we're  merry,  come  fill  up  the  glasses — 
We'll  drink  to  our  Poets,  (we've  toasted  our  lasses,) 
To  all  the  high  bards  of  our  beautiful  Islands, 
From  famed  Connemara,  all  round  to  the  Highlands. 

A  bumper,  my  boys,  here's  the  profligate  Baron  ^ 
Who  his  Pegasus  broke  to  a  Tragedy  Garron'* 
In  carrying  logs  to  the  temple  of  Belus, 
To  burn  that  half  man  they  call  Sardanapalus. 

His  Lordship,  who,  in  the  dull  play,  the  Foscari, 
Wrote  worse  than  e'er  Coekneyland's  regent,  mild  Barry, 
And  whose  fame  and  whose  genius  came  down  to  their  Zero 
In  the  robberies  and  wretchedness  of  FaHex'o. 

He  with  folly  inflated,  with  vanity  reeling. 

And  mocking  at  nature,  at  morals,  and  feeling. 

At  the  pride  of  the  brave,  at  the  tears  of  the  tender. 

And  who  cares  for  them  all  and  their  ties  not  a  bender. ' 

Who  spouts  out  more  venom  than  an  Amphisboena 

On  the  land  of  his  birth ;  and,  like  laughing  Hyena, 

Mocks  at  the  brave  country,  he  scarce  should  dare  dream  on — 

At  whose  blood  and  whose  glory  he  sneer'd  like  a  demon. 

Who  in  Italy  lives,  and  who  babbles  of  slavery, 
And  who  lately  displayed  his  high  mettle  and  bravery. 
In  hotly  pursuing  an  old  drunken- sergeant — * 
On  his  arms  he  should  quarter  a  halbert  in  argent. 

*  This  chant,  too  full  of  personalities  not  to  be  given,  appeared  in  Blackwood,  July,  1822, 
and  was  originally  intended  (as  a  brief  foot-note  indicated,)  to  be  introduced  in  The  Noctes, 
No.  III.,  of  the  preceding  number.  "  This,"  quoth  North,  "  was  before  the  Adjutant  went  on 
his  Italian  tour."  The  Noctes,  No.  IV.,  had  its  locality  transferred  to  Pisa,  and  the  dialogue 
was  solely  between  Odoherty  and  Byron.— M. 

'George  Gordon  Byron,  born  22d  January,  1788,  in  London,  died  in  Greece,  April  19, 
1824.— M. 

«  A  Poney— Hibern.— C.  N. 

3  Alias,  a  tester — alias,  a  sixpence. — C.  N. 

*  Byron,  who  had  previously  resided  at  Ravenna,  removed  to  Pisa  with  the  Gambas  (father 
and  brother  of  the  Countess  Guiccioli,  who  accompanied  them)  in  the  autumn  of  1821. 
Here,  as  in  other  parts  of  Italy,  he  was  suspected,  and  not  without  cause,  of  having  secretly 
joined  the  Carbonari.  The  result  was,  that  the  military  attempted  to  arrest  him,  a  fracas 
ensued,  which  ended  in  the  removal  of  Byron  and  his  friends,  first  to  Leghorn,  and  finally  to 
Genoa. — ^M. 


1822.]  METEICUM    SYMPOSIUM.  219 

But,  Lis  health  ! — like  ourselves,  he  is  fond  of  a  frolic, 
May  he  ne'er  die  iu  child-bed,  or  faiat  with  the  colic ! 
May  he  die  an  old  man,  good,  religious,  and  hoary, 
And  win  and  wear  long  the  true  wreath  of  his  glory ! 

But  would  he  were  here — He  could  have  wine  and  laughter, 
And  when  wakened  to-morrow — maybe  the  day  after — 
With  head  like  sick  lily — a  lily  of  Hermon's, 
We'd  give  him  some  soda,  and  Maturin's  sermons.  ^ 

Here,  fill  up  for  Sir  Walter  ! — but  stop,  he's  no  poet, 
When  the  Cockneys  think  meet,  they  will  easily  show  it.^ 
Sir  Walter  a  poet  1     Faith,  that's  a  misnomer. 
But  still,  here's  success  to  our  Northern  Homer. 

Come,  fill  high  for  Tom  Moore  !  would  this  bumper  could  gain  us 
A  truce  with  the  sweet  little  Pander  of  Yenus  !" 
'Tis  diamond  cut  diamond  when  he  and  we  quarrel, 
But  we  value  his  wrath  as  the  dregs  of  that  barrel. 

Then  Tommy,  agra !  ^  if  you  fall  out  with  Blackwood, 
For  dying  luxuriously,  purchase  a  Packwood— 
Frank  Jeifrey,  and  all  that,  was  nothing  for  certain, 
.    To  us ;  but  that's  all  in  my  eye,  Betty  Martin. 

Then,  here's  to  poor  Tom,  and  his  verses  so  sunny, 
That  made  all  our  maids  and  young  widows  so  funny ; 
AVhich  sent  half  the  spalpeens  of  Munster  dragooning, 
And  sent  all  the  punks  in  the  kingdom  salooning. 

Now,  the  Minstrel  of  Gertrude^ — Compiler  of  Colburn — 
Once  the  bard  of  high  Scotland — now  that  of  High  Holborn; 
Whose  jingliugs  the  Cockney-lambs  lead  like  a  ram-bell, 
And,  after  the  toast,  strike  up  "  Ranting  Tom  Campbell." 

Now,  here's  to  Will  Wordsworth,  so  wise  and  so  wordy,^° 
And  the  sweet  simple  hymns  of  his  own  hurdy-gurdy — 
Who  in  vain  blows  the  bellows  of  Milton's  old  organ. 
While  he  thinks  he  could  lull  all  the  snakes  on  the  Gorgon. 

Now  drain  for  mad  Coleridge^' — the  mystical  Lacon, 
Who  out-cants  Wild  Kant,  and  out-Bacons  old  Bacon — 
The  vain,  self-tormenting,  and  eloquent  railer. 
Who  out  of  his  tropes  ^'ernes  Jeremy  Taylor. 

5  It  -was  laid  down,  in  the  Cockney  canons  of  criticism,  that  Sir  Walter  Scott  was — no 
poet !— M. 

6  To  be  pronounced  Hibernically,  Va-nus,  rhythmi  gratia. — C.  N. 

7  Blackwood,  before  and  after  this  day,  was  not  only  kind,  but  forbearing  towards  Thomas 
Moore,  whose  genius  was  duly  appreciated  in  its  pagesjrbut  it  had  been  stated  that  "the  poet 
of  all  circles  and  idol  of  his  own,"  had  written  a  saucy  pasquinade  upon  Wilson,  and  his 
friends  ;  hence,  the  tone  of  truculent  deiiance  in  the  song. — M. 

**  Anglice,  my  darling. — C.  N. 

9  Thomas  Campbell,  at  this  time,  and  for  some  years  later,  was  editor  of  Colburn's  New 
Monthly  Magazine. — M. 

10  William  Wordsworth,  born  in  April,  1770,  died  in  1850.  His  Descriptive  Sketches  appeared 
in  1793;  Lyrical  Ballads,  in  1798;  Poems  in  1S07  ;  The  Excursion,  in  1814 ;  White  Doe  of 
Rylstone,  in  1815  ;  Peter  Bell,  in  1819  ;  Sonnets,  in  1820  ;  Memorials  of  a  Tour  on  the  Continent, 
in  1822,  and  Poems  of  Early  Years,  in  lb42.— M. 

"  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge,  born  in  1770,  died  in  1834.— M. 


220         _  NOCTES   AMBHOSIAN^.  [July, 

Success  to  the  Bard  of  the  Bay  '.—may  he  wear  it 
Till  we  see  from  his  temples  one  worthy  to  tear  it — 
And,  though  his  hexameters  are  somewhat  mouthy, 
This  glass  will  make  greener  the  laurel  of  Southey." 

And,  after  the  Minstrel  of  Roderic  and  Madoe, 

We'll  be  pardon'd  to  give  our  poetical  Sadoc, 

Mad  Shelly,"  the  wild  atheist  Coryphoeus, 

Whose  Poems  and  Thoughts  are  a  "  Curse  and  a  Chaos." 

Now,  here's  Billy  Bowles,"  both  for  epic  and  sonnet, 
Who  Lord  Byron  has  bother'd,  I  lay  my  life  on  it — 
And  here's  our  best  wish  to  the  long-sodden'd  flummery, 
So  thick  and  so  slab,  of  mild  Jemmy  Montgomery.^^ 

And  here's  the  Poetical  Bank  of  Sam  Rogers — 
Firm  still  by  the  aid  of  old  England's  old  Codgers, 
Whose  notes  are  as  good  as  those  given  by  Lord  Fanny," 
Or  Lord  Byron,  who  puffs  them — a  critical  zany.^' 

Here's  Milman,  the  Idol  of  Square-caps  at  Oxford, 
Though  his  verses  will  scarce  ever  travel  to  Foxford  ;^® 
His  Pegasus  broken,  no  longer  is  skittish. 
Though  he's  puff  d  in  the  Quarterly,  pufl''d  in  the  British, 

Though  his  verse  stately  be  as  the  dance  call'd  the  Pyrrhic, 
And  his  high  harp  be  tuned  to  the  epic  and  lyric. 
Yet  we  fear  that  his  glory  but  stubble  is  built  on, 
And  his  hymns  we  scarce  fancy  quite  equal  to  Milton 

For  of  late  we  remember  of  nothing  grown  tamer, 
Than  the  steed  that  bore  "  Fazio,"  and  paced  under  "  Samor ;" 
And  the  "  Martyr,"  "  Belshazzar,"  and  "  Fall  of  Jerusalem," 
We  think  will  scarce  live  to  the  age  of  Methusalem.^' 

Here's  to  splendid  John  Wilson,'^"  and  John  Wilson  Croker,'^ 
Whose  satire's  as  dreadful  as  Jarvie's  red  poker, 

12  Robert  Southey,  born  1774,  died  1843.  He  was  appointed  Poet  Laureate  in  1813.  A  mere 
recapitulation  of  his  writings  would  fill  a  page. — M. 

13  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley,  born  in  1792,  drowned  in  the  Gulf  of  Lerici,  on  the  Italian  coast, 
July  8,  1823.  No  man,  in  his  life,  more  thoroughly  opposed  the  conventionalities  of  society. 
Few  have  exhibited  higher  poetic  genius. — M. 

1*  William  Lisle  Bowles,  (born  in  1762,  died  in  1850),  whose  sonnets,  published  in  1789.  first 
drew  Coleridge's  attention  to  poetry. — M. 

15  James  Montgomery,  born  in  1771.  died  in  1854.  He  belonged  to  what  has  been  called  the 
Evangelical  School  of  Poetry,  and  such  of  his  compositions  as  are  not  religious,  are  serious  and 
moral.  His  "  World  before  the  Flood,"  "  The  Pelican  Island,"  and  some  sacred  songs  and 
lyrics  will  preserve  his  reputation,  as  a  second-rate  poet. — M. 

16  This  can  surely  require  no  explanation. — C.  N. 

17  Samuel  Rogers,  born  in  1760,  published  an  Ode  to  Superstition,  in  1787;  Pleasures  of 
Memory,  in  1792 ;  Epistle  to  a  Friend,  in  1798  ;  Vision  of  Columbus,  and  Jacqueline,  in  1814  ; 
Human  Life,  in  1819  ;  and  Italy,  in  1822.  It  is  by  his  Pleasures  of  Memory,  that  Rogers  will 
best  be  remembered  as  a  poet  of  great  taste  and  skill,— the  workmanship  being  better  than  the 
materials,  as  in  Ovid's  Palace  of  the  Sun. — M. 

18  West  of  Ireland,  ni  fallor—oi  elsewhere,  inter  barbaros. — C.  N. 

19  Henry  Hart  Milman,  now  Dean  of  St.  Paul's  Cathedral.  London,  author  of  many  dramatic 
poems,  (orwhich  "  Fazio"  alone  is  acted  or  actable,)  a  variety  of  prose  histories,  and  many 
critical  articles  in  the  Quarterly  Revieio. — M. 

20  A  full  memoir  of"  Splendid  John  Wilson."  is  given  in  the  second  volume  of  this  edition 
of  The  Noctes  :    '"  For  particulars,  inquire  within."— M. 

21  John  Wilson  Croker,  born  in  Ireland,  in  1780,  Secretary  of  the  Admiralty  from  1809  to 


1822.J  METEICUM    SYMPOSIUM.  221 

Who  cut  up  poor  Joe,  and  that  booby — the  other — "^"^ 
As  Joe  for  economy  cut  up  his  brother. 

Wow  fill  up  a  bumper  for  Catiline  Croly,^^ 

The  compeer  of  Massinger,  Fletcher,  and  Rowley, 

And  confusion  to  Elliston,  Kemble,  and  Harris, 

Who  were  blind  to  the  beams  of  the  author  of  "  Paris." 

Now,  the  bards  of  the  drama — from  Ireland — all  tragic — 
Here's  first  Nosy  Maturin,  the  mild  and  the  magic, 
Who  into  a  ball-room  as  gracefully  twitches, 
As  Bertram — fourth  act — enters  buttoning  his  breeches. 

May  his  stays  never  crack  while  quadrilling  ^^  or  preaching ; 
May  his  wig  ne'er  gi'ow  grey,  nor  his  cravat  want  bleaching  • 
May  his  muse  of  her  quinzy  be  cured  by  a  gargle  ; 
May  he  faint  at  Miss  Wilson,  and  dream  in  the  Dargle.''* 

May  he  send  out  a  dozen  more  heroes  from  Trinity, 
And  for  that  be  made  Provost,  its  prop  of  divinity — 
We  wish  Melmoth  well,  for  he  is  a  true  Tory, 
Whate'er  Coleridge  may  say,  and  let  that  be  his  glory  ^^ 

Here's  to  poor  Skinny  Sheil,  whose  entire  occupation 
Is  gone,  since  CNeil  ceased  delighting  the  nation ; 
Whose  head's  much  more  empty  than  Maturin's  wig,  sirs, 
But,  nevertheless,  we'll  give  Sheelahnagig'f^  sirs,"-^^ 

1830, — author  of  some  satirical  verse,  editorof  Boswell's  Johnson,  and  other  works,  and,  from  its 
commencement  to  the  present  time,  [July,  1854],  one  of  the  most  frequent,  powerful,  and 
sarcastic  contributors  to  the  Quarterly  Review.  The  individual  familiarly  mentioned  as  '' Joo 
that  booby,"  was  Joseph  Hume,  now  oldest  member,  or  Father  of  the  House  of  Commons  who 
by  no  means  merited  the  title,  being  a  shrewd  Scotchman  with  much  common  sense  and  a 
good  deal  of  perseverance. — M. 

ii2  See  note  6. 

23  The  Rev.  George  Croly.  now  rector  of  a  Metropolitan  parish,  in  London,  author  of  Paris 
in  1815  ;  The  Angel  of  the  "World  ;  Life  of  Burke  ;  the  prose  romances  of  Salathiel  and  Marston  • 
the  comedy  of  Pride  Shall  have  a  Fall,  and  a  variety  of  political,  theological,  and  controversial 
works,  is  a  native  of  Ireland,  born  about  1788.  His  Catiline,  a  tragedy  in  five  acts,  appeared 
in  1822.  It  is  founded  on  what  Horace  Walpole  has  called  "  the  most  brilliant  episode  in  the 
History  of  Rome."  It  was  offered  to  Elliston,  Kemble,  and  Harris,  then  managers  of  Drury 
Lane  and  Covent  Garden  Theatres.  In  reviewing  it  {Blackwood,  June,  1822),  Wilson  said 
"We  never  read  any  first  tragedy,  by  any  dramatist  whatever,  abounding  so  much  in  happy 
dramatic  situations."  The  character  of  Catiline  is  one  which,  perhaps,  at  this  moment  could 
be  properly  personated  by  only  one  great  actor — Edwin  Forrest. — M. 

2*  The  Reverend  Mr.  Maturin  is  one  of  the  first  quadrillers  now  extant.  He  also  is  a  great 
grinder — and  a  true  Tory. — C.  N. 

2i  A  beautiful  pass  in  the  Co.  Wicklow.  You  ought  to  go  and  see  it.  Ans.  We  are  too  old 
to  go  touring. — C.  N. 

26  Coleridge,  who  was  an  unsuccessful  dramatist,  devoted  a  portion  of  Biographia  Literaria 
to  the  ridicule  of  Robert  Charles  Maturin,  whose  play  of  Bertram  had  succeeded.  [This  last 
word  reminds  me,  en  passant,  of  a  play-wright  who  produced  a  play,  in  which  the  acknow- 
ledged humorist  of  the  company  had  not  even  the  ghost  of  fun  to  bring  before  the  audience. 
The  curtain  fell  "  in  solemn  silence."  It  was  again  played,  with  like  result,  and  then  with- 
drawn. A  friendly  critic,  wishing  to  break  the  play-wright's  fall,  went  out  of  his  way  to 
show  why  "  it  had  failed,"— which  he  ingeniously  attributed  to  every  cause,  except  the  true 
one,  of  want  of  dramatic  ability.  The  play-wright's  gratitude  was  expressed  in  one  sentence, 
in  which  he  stated  himself  aggrieved  at  its  being  said  that  the  trifle  had  failed.  The  critic, 
who' rather  expected  thanks,  said  that  it  certainly  had  not  succeeded.  "Sir,"  responded  the 
sensitive  author,  "  zt  does  not  follow  that  a  play  has  failed,  because  it  did  not  succeed!"] 
Maturin,  who  was  much  of  a  dandy  in  his  attire,  added  to  the  narrow  income  derived  from  a 
poor  curacy  in  Dublin,  by  reading  with  (or  ^rindincr),  young  men  who  wished  to  pass  cre- 
ditably through  Trinity  College.     He  died  in  1825.— M. 

2''  A  nickname  bestowed  on  Sheil,  by  the  late  Right  Honorable  John  Philpot  Curran,  Master 
of  the  Rolls  in  Ireland,  much  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  poet.  Sheelahnagig,  is  the  name  of  a 
popular  tune  in  the  Sister  Island,  but,  we  are  sorry  to  say,  to  words  of  rather  an  immoral 
tendency. — C.  N. 

3S  Shell's  three  plays,  (of  which  Evadne  was  the  most  successful),  were  written  for  the 


222  NOCTES   AMBEOSIANJE.  [July, 

And,  now,  Mr.  Knowles — ■who  with  feelings  once  vented,'^® 

While  our  living  bards  he  so  well  represented  f° 

And  with  him  we'll  couple  a  man  they  call  Banim,^^ 

Though  a  bard,  we  scarce  think  him — a  bard  we  scarce  feign  him.'^ 

Here's  Haynes'  "  Bridal  Night" — in  five  acts — 'tis  no  wonder 

He  kill'd  the  poor  maiden — yet,  faith,  'twas  a  blunder 

To  christen  that  "  conscience" — 'twas  very  ironical ;  ^^ 

But  he  floats  down  to  fame  through  the  sink  of  the  "  Chronicle." 

And  here's  the  last  bard  of  the  buskin,  poor  Bertridge, 
"Whom  Miss  Wilson  was  near  blowing  up  like  a  cartridge — 
Simple  Clai'ke  !  in  the  tragic  you're  yet  but  a  tyro, 
Though,  faith,  there  was  something  not  bad  in  *^  Ramiro.""* 

Here's  Charley  from  Sligo,^^  whose  finical  verses, 
Each  bog-trotter  on  black  Benbulben  rehearses, 
As  flimzy  and  sloppish  as  waiting-maid"s  washes, 
Or  a  speech  of  his  own,  or  Sir  James  M'lntosh's.^® 

And  while  we  pass  over  the  Cockueyish  dastards, 
We  must  drink  to  the  poet  of  beggary  and  bastards  ; 
•  For  there's  something  so  strong  in  his  old-fashioned  gab,  sirs, 
We'll  empty  a  glass  to  the  Veteran  Crabbe,^'  sirs. 

Here's  to  Mitchell,  restorer  of  dear  Aristophanes, 

Who  has  made  all  his  fun,  and  his  fire,  and  his  scoffing  his. 

purpose  of  giving  new  characters  for  embodiment  by  Miss  O'Neil,  the  Irish  Tragedienne,  born 
in  1793.     Sheil  died  in  1851.— M. 

29  This  is  a  great  undervaluation  of  James  Sheridan  Knowles,  whose  Caius  Gracchus  and 
Virginius  had  been  successfully  performed  in  London.  William  Tell  followed,  and,  a  few 
years  later,  The  Hunchback,  The  Wife,  and  other  dramas  which  have  placed  him  high  among 
the  dramatists  of  England.     Knowles  was  born  at  Cork,  in  Ireland,  in  August,  1784. — M. 

^0  A  Poet  mentioned  by  Cornelius  Webb,  under  the  title  of  "  Green  Knowles."  Rather 
personal  this  of  Corney.  At  a  public  dinner  of  the  Literary  Fund,  Mr.  Knowles,  we  read  in 
the  papers,  on  the  health  of  the  Poets  of  England  being  proposed,  returned  thanks !  Air,  "  How 
prettily  ive  apples  swim."  On  the  same  occasion  an  Alderman,  (we  never  mention  names,) 
Captain  of  Trainbands,  returned  thanks  on  the  health  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington  and  the 
British  Army  being  given.  We  have  an  obscure  remembrance  of  Sir  Ronald  Ferguson  doing 
the  same  thing  on  a  similar  occasion.     Air,  "  See  the  conquering  hero." — C.  N. 

31  John  Banim,  an  Irishman,  author  of  '•  Damon  and  Pythias,"  a  drama,  and  of  a  considerable 
portion  of  the  prose  fictions  which  appeared  as  if  written  "  By  the  O'Hara  Family." — M. 

^'■^  Banim?  Q,ucBre.     Is  it  possible  there  is  such  a  namel — U.  N. 

33  Mr.  Haines,  an  Irishman,  was  a  writer  on  the  London  press,  and  published  a  play  called 
"  Conscience,  or  The  Bridal  Night,"  which  never  was  performed. — M. 

34  J.  Bertridge  Clerk,  Esq.  Sch.  T.  C.  D.,  wrote  a  play  called  Ramiro— a  perfect  tragedy,  all 
being  killed  in  it  except  the  servants,  who  were  judiciously  employed  to  carry  oiF  the  dead. 
Harris,  the  manager  of  the  Dublin  theatre,  and  he,  had  some  rumpus  about  it ; — so  had  Miss 
Wilson— the  Miss  Stephens  of  Dublin,  a  very  pretty  woman,  and  a  very  pretty  actress.  The 
house  was  nearly  demolished  by  his  brother  students — a  peaceful  body  of  ingenuous  youth. 

35  Charles  Phillips,  had  not  only  come  out,  as  a  "celebrated  Irish  Orator,"  but  published  a 
prose  romance,  and  a  great  many  verses.— M. 

36  Late  recorder  of  Bombay — and  father  of  the  pretty  bantling  of  which  Mrs.  Divan  is  not  yet 
delivered.  [Mrs.  Divan  was  the  sobriquet  of  the  London  publishing  firm  of  Longman,  Hart, 
Rees,  Orme,  &  Brown.] — M. 

3'  Crabbe — Mr.  North,  why  do  I  not  ever  see  an  article  in  your  Magazine  doing  justice  to  the 
powerful  talents  of  this  powerful  poet?  Ans.  There's  a  braw  time  coming. — C.N.  [A  pretty 
close  examination  of  Blackwood  enables  me  to  say,  that  any  notice  of  the  Rev.  George  Crabbe, 

"  Nature's  sternest  painter,  but  her  best." 

was  not  made  until  after  his  death.  Then,  the  merits  of  the  author  of  The  Library,  The  Village, 
The  Borough,  Tales  of  the  Hall,  &c.,  were  mentioned  and  acknowledged.  Crabbe  was  born  in 
1754,  and  died  in  1832.— M. 


1822.]  METEICUM    SYMPOSIUM.  223 

Here's  to  Frere,  who  some  time  since  wrote  Dan  Whistleeraf* 
And  to  Rose,  who  is  busy  with  Roland  the  Daft.^" 

And  here's  to  the  lady-like,  lisping,  sweet  fellow 
Who  thinks  he  can  write  in  the  vein  of  Othello, 
Without  plot  or  passion — Alas  !  Peter  Proctor — 
But  it  scandals  the  muse  that  makes  him  need  a  Doctor."^ 

But  still  he  has  written  some  stanzas  of  merit. 

And  caught  a  fine  spark  of  the  delicate  spirit 

Of  the  rich  Bards  of  old — and  might  be  an  apology 

For  a  Minstrel — wer't  not  for  Cockaigne  and  Mythology .*« 

And  now  to  the  dames  of  the  sky-color'd  stocking, 
Who  side-saddle  Pegasus,  his  long  switch- tail  docking, 
Who  tatter  fine  cambrics  in  rythmical  labors. 
And  dream  to  the  lullings  of  hautboys  and  tabors. 

Here's  first  Mother  Morgan,  akin  to  morality 
As  near  as  she  is  to  a  woman  of  quality — 
And  the  sweet  sapphic  verses  of  Maidenly  Sydney, 
That  so  tickle  the  fancy  and  touch  up  the  kidney. 

Those  verses  so  mawkish,  so  fat,  and  so  gawdy, 

A  girlish  first  fire  of  the  bold  and  the 

Which  give  a  fair  promise  all  wisely  and  wittily 
Of  the  Jacobin  cant  of  her  "  France"  and  her  "  Italy." 

But  in  spite  of  Canidia  and  her  doubty  cavalier, 
At  her  folHes  full  often  we  purpose  to  have  a  leer — 
Unless  to  Algiers  she  fly  off,  as  we  task  her. 
Or  become  the  she-Solon*^  of  mad  Madagascar.*^ 

Here's  Lucy ,4^  in  whom  wit  and  wisdom  are  blended. 
By  whom  everything's  seen,  felt,  and  comprehended — 

38  Thomas  Mitchell,  translator  of  the  plays  of  Aristophanes  into  English  verse,  -was  horn  in 
17S3,  and  died  in  1845.  John  Hookham  Frere,  the  friend  of  Scott  and  Southey,  will  principally 
be  recollected  by  his  facetious  poem  written  under  the  notn  de  flume  of  Whistlecraft  (and 
called  The  Monks  and  the  Giants),  which  suggested  to  Lord  Byron  the  stanza,  in  which 
he  afterwards  wrote  Beppo  and  Don  Juan.  Frere,  born  in  1769,  died  in  1S46.  William 
Steward  Rose,  the  translator  of  Ariosto,  Letters  from  the  North  of  Italy,  and  other  works,  was 
intimate  with  Byron,  Davy,  Scott,  Southey,  and,  in  short,  with  all  eminent  literary  men 
during  the  whole  period  of  his  life.     He  survived  Scott. — M. 

39  Alias  Barry  Cornwall.  A  young  gentleman  most  unjustifiably  treated  by  Blackwood. 
What  a  shame  it  is,  that  a  rising  young  man  cannot  be  allowed  to  kill  his  people  in  fine 
tragedies,  without  the  sneer  of  envy,  and  the  murmuring  of  malice  !  Take  that,  Christopher  ! 
See  how  diff"erently  he  is  appreciated  in  London — where  he,  author  of  Mirandola,  ia.made  one 
of  a  committee  to  erect  a  monument  to  his  congenial  spirit,  William  Shakspeare,  author  of 
Hamlet,  and  other  agreeable  dramas.  Ans.  We  defy  any  one  to  point  out  a  passage  in  which 
we  have  not  extolled  Mr.  Cornwall.  In  fact,  he  is  one  of  our  own  pets;  and  if  wedo  sometiiTies 
give  him  a  little  gentle  and  benignant  correction,  it  is  only  because  we  remember  the  precept 
of  Solomon,  "  He  that  spareth  the  rod,  spoileth  the  child." — C.  N. 

4°  Bryan  William  Procter,  author  of  the  tragedy  of  Mirandola;  concerning  which,  he 
published  a  solemn  statement  that  one  of  the  characters  was  ?jot  the  double  of  Othello  !  Under 
the  name  of  Barry  Cornwall,  he  has  won  high  repute  as  a  writer  of  short  Dramatic  Scenes,  and 
a  variety  of  popular  songs. — M. 

*i  Observe,  not  a  Solan  goose. — C.  N. 

■*2  Sydney  Owenson,  afterwards  Lady  Morgan — by  marriage.  It  is  somewhat  impertinent  to 
allude  to  a  lady's  age,  but  she  was  born  not  later  than  1770. — M. 

43  Lucy  Aiken,  author  of  Biographies  of  Q.ueen  Elizabeth  and  James  I. — M. 


224  NOCTES   AMBEOSIANiB.  [July, 

And  here's  to  the  geuius  of  Helen  Maria, 
Of  all  that  is  frothy  the  Entelecheia."^ 

Here's  to  Opie  the  sweet — Here's  to  high-minded  Hannah — 
Here's  to  Sliakspeare  in  Petticoats,  noble  Joanna — 
Here's  to  all  from  soft  Hetnaos  as  rich  as  a  ruby,*^ 
To  the  brogue  and  the  blarney  of  pretty  Miss  Lube.** 

Now  here  are  fom'  bards,  to  whom  genius  is  pater, 

Who  never  suck'd  poetry  from  Alma  Mater — 

Who  just  knew  so  much  of  the  great  Aristotle, 

As  they  got  from  the  fields,  from  their  feelings,  and  bottle. 

Fill  first  for  the  Chaldee — the  shepherd  of  Ettrick, 
Who  stole  from  the  Hills'  hums  his  musical  rhet'rick — 
For  Hogg's  rhyme  is  no  grunting — and  here's  a  libation 
To  Bloomfield,  the  simplest  sweet  Bard  of  the  nation.*''' 

Here's  to  Clare  and  his  verses,  so  simple  and  pleasant, 
The  Lond.on  one's  Bard — The  Northamptonshire  peasant : 
And  here's  to  the  Galloway  boy  and  his  lyrics, 
That  have  put  all  the  Bards  of  Cockaigne  in  hysterics.*® 

Here's  to  Luttrell  and  Dale,  and  the  Dante  of  Carey ; 
Here's  to  Lloyd,  the  preserver  of  great  Alfieri ; 
And  this  bumper  to  Lamb  we  send  gratefully  greeting, 
For  we  love  his  deep  baaing  and  beautiful  bleating.*^ 

Here's  Thui-low  half-witted,  and  Spencer  half-attic, 
Yet  not  lame  in  the  light  and  the  epigrammatic  ; 

**  Helen  Maria  "Williams, certainly  one  of  the  English  "strong-minded  -women,"  torn  in 
1762.  died  in  1827  ;  author  of  Letters  of  France,  during  the  first  Revolution,  in  which  she  assisted 
and  recommended  the  principles  of  the  Girondists.  On  their  fall  she  was  arrested,  and 
narrowly  escaped  the  guillotine.  She  also  published  a  Narrative  of  Events  in  France  in 
1815.— M. 

*5  Amelia  Opie,  Mndow  of  the  painter,  and  an  authoress  of  some  note.  She  died  in  1853. 
Hannah  Wore,  (born  in  1744.  died  in  1833,)  an  eminent  writer. — Joanna  Baillie,  author  of 
Plays  on  the  Passions,  and  other  dramas  and  poems.  She  died  in  1851.  Felicia  Hemans,  the 
best  of  the  female  lyrists  of  England,  born  in  1704,  died  in  1835. — Of  Rliss  Luby  I  only  know 
that  she  published,  but  was  unable  to  sell  a  volume  of  poems. — M. 

*'5  Pretty,  indeed,  and  very  pretty — but  no  brogue,  or  no  blarney,  Mr.  Paddy. — C.  N. 

*■' Full  particulars  about  James  Hogg  , (born  1772,  died  1835).  are  to  be  found  in  my  Memoir  of 
him,  in  this  edition.  Kobert  Bloomfield,  author  of  The  Farmer's  Boy,  and  other  poems  of  grea.t 
merit;  born  17t)6,  died  1S23. — M. 

*8  John  Clare,  the  Northampton  Peasant  and  Poet,  now  [1854],  in  alunatic  asylum.  Allan 
Cunningham,  a  Scottish  poet,  novelist,  critic,  and  biographer,  born  in  1785,  died  in  1842. — M. 

*9  Luttrell,  author  of  Advice  to  Julia,  an  epistle  in  verse,  will  long  be  traditionally  remem- 
bered as  one  of  the  wits  of  the  regency  and  reign  of  George  IV. — The  Rev.  Doctor  Dale,  author 
of  The  Widow  of  Nain,  Irad  and  Adah,  and  other  poems,  is  now  prebendary  of  St.  Paul's  and 
Rector  of  St.  Pancras,  the  largest  parish  in  London. — Charles  Lloyd,  translator  of  Alfieri,  and 
an  early  friend  of  Southey  and  Coleridge. — Charles  Lamb,  the  gentle  Elia,  was  born  in  1775, 
and  died  in  1834.  Few  authors  have  won  more  sincere  and  genial  regard  from  "  hosts  of 
friends."  His  Essays  form  one  of  the  most  popular  works  in  the  language.  A  great  deal  of 
good  pity  has  been  expended  on  the  fact  that  Lamb  was  "doomed  to  the  cruel  desk  in  daily 
toil."  Ho  was  a  clerk  in  the  accountant's  office  in  the  East  India  House,  commencing  on  a 
respectable  and  rising  salary,  his  sole  labors  being  to  copy  papers  into  books  of  record.  When 
he  retired,  after  thirty-five  years'  service,  his  income  had  increased  to  £700  a-year,  and  he  was 
then  allowed  a  retiring  life-allowance  of  £450  a  year.  Great  consideration  was  shown  him  by 
liis  superiors.  On  one  occasion,  however,  (the  usual  office-hours  being  nominally  from  10  to4). 
he  entered  his  office  at  noon.  The  principal  said,  "  Mr.  Lamb,  you  really  do  come  so  late." 
Lamb  paused,  and  said,  with  the  arch  simplicity  which  distinguished  him,  "True,  sir,  but 
then — I  go  away  so  early  !" — M. 


1822.]  METKICUM   SYMPOSIUM.  225 

Herbert,  tasteless  and  black,  as  a  glass  of  bad  negus ;°" 
And  Strangford,  who  gather'd  some  gold  from  the  Tagus."^^ 

And  now  to  the  bards  of  the  famed  silent  sister  -j^^ 
We  own,  for  some  seasons  or  so,  we  have  miss'd  her. 
And  the  prize-winning  poets  of  Isis  and  Cam, 
Very  fine — very  learned — and  scarce  worth  a  d . 

And  now  into  dozens  the  poets  we'll  trundle : 

We  must  drink  to  them  now  at  least  twelve  in  the  bundle. 

Here's  Williams  and  Darley,  Barton  and  Fitzgerald, 

Who  might  shine  in  a  page  of  the  "  Times"  or  the  "  Herald."  °^ 

Here's  to  all  the  rest,  both  esquired  and  anonymous. 
May  they  all  in  their  times  find  their  own  Hieronymus  ; 
Though  their  verses  may  live  until  Saturday  se'nnight, 
Or  as  long  as  the  speeches  of  Brougham  or  of  Bennett. 

We  can  give  no  more  names — faith,  we  ne'er  could  be  able ; 
If  we  did,  we  would  soon  be  laid  under  the  table. 
Then  one  glass  to  them  all,  male  and  female  together, 
Who  recite  in  the  dog-days,  in  spite  of  the  weather. 

This  last  three  times  three,  boys. — Hip,  hip,  hurra! 
The  Poets  of  England — by  jingo  !  'tis  day. 
Can  Alaric^*  save  them  ? — No  ;  our  personality 
And  Maga  alone  can  give  them  immortality. 

50  Hibernice  Nagus.     See  note  4. — C.  N. 

51  This  is  the  Lord  Thurlow,  whose  volume  of  middling  rhymes,  in  1813,  so  much  excited  the 
ridicule  of  Byron,  that  he  perpetrated  some  satires  on  them,  which  are  to  be  found  in  his 
poems,  and  place  some  of  Thurlow's  lines,  therein  quoted,  in  a  situation  akin  to  that  of  flies  in 
amber. — William  Robert  Spencer,  a  lively  poet  of  the  Regency,  born  in  1770,  died  in  1834. — Dr. 
Herbert,  son  of  the  Earl  of  Carnaervon,  dean  of  Manchester,  author  of  Attila,  and  other  poems 
of  marked  merit,  and  also  of  Mr.  Henry  William  Herbert,  the  best  sporting  writer  in  America, 
("  Frank  Forrester'),  distinguished  as  poet,  novelist,  critic,  historian,  and  artist. — The 
translator  of  Camoens  was  addressed  in  Byron's  English  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers,  as 

Hibernian  Strangford  !  with  thine  eyes  of  blue 

And  boasted  locks  of  red  or  auburn  hue. 
with  a  declaration,  by  way  o"f  annotation,  that  "  The  things  given  to  the  public  as  the  poem  of 
Camoens.   are    no    more    to   be   found   in   the   original    Portuguese,    than   in   the   Song   of 
Solomon." — M. 

52  By  "Silent  Sister,"  is  meant  Trinity  College,  Dublin — A  most  unfounded  and  ridiculous 
calumny,  as  we  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  proving  ere  long. — C.  N.  [Which  was  never 
done.— M.] 

53  Darley  eventually  became  critical  preface- writer  to  Cumberland's  British  Drama  — Bernard 
Barton,  the  Quaker  poet,  died  in  1849. — Fitzgerald,  called  "The  Small-beer  Poet,''  by  Cobbett, 
used  annually  to  deliver  a  poetical  address  at  the  Literary  Fund  Dinner. — M. 

5*  Alaric  A.  Watts,  Esq.,  who  is  employed  about  what  we  doubt  not  will  be  a  miost  interesting 
work.  Specimens  of  the  British  Poets.  Of  course,  he  must  exhibit  us  in  full  fig. — C.  N,  [The 
work  appeared,  in  two  volumes,  but  was  not  a  good  collection  of  poems. — M.] 


10^ 


No.  v.— SEPTEMBER,  1822. 

ACT  I. — Scene — Bach  Parlor — Cold  Supper  just  set, 

Manet  Mr.  Ambrose  solus. 

Mr.  Ambrose,  I  think  it  will  do.  That  plate  of  lobsters  is  a  little 
too  near  the  edge.  Softly,  softly,  the  round  of  beef  casts  too  4eep 
a  shadow  over  these  pickles.  There — that's  right.  Old  Kit  wiil  be 
unable  to  criticise  — 

Enter  Mr.  North. 

Mr.  North.  Old  Kit !  will  be  unable  to  criticise  ! ! — Why,  upon 
my  honor,  Mr.  Ambrose,  you  are  rather  irreverent  in  your  lingo. 

Mr.  Ambrose^  {much  confused.)  I  really,  sir,  had  not  the  least  idea 
you  were  at  hand.     You  know,  sir,  with  what  profound  respect  — 

Mr.  North.  Come,  Ambrose,  put  down  the  pots  of  porter.  The 
King  has  left  the  Theatre,  and  we  shall  be  all  here  in  a  few  seconds. 
I  made  my  escape  from  the  manager's  box,  just  before  the  row  and 
the  rush  began.     Hark  !  that  is  the  clank-  of  the  Adjutant. 

Enter  Odoherty,  Tickler,  Seward,  Buller,  Highland  Chieftain, 
and  Mr.  Blackwood. 

Odoherty.  Allow  me,  my  dear  North,  to  introduce  to  you  my 
friend,  the  Chief  of  the  Clan  — 

Mr.  North.  No  need  of  a  name.  I  know  him  by  his  father's  face. 
Sir,  I  will  love  you  for  the  sake  of  as  noble  a  Gael  as  ever  slaughtered 
a  Sassenach.     Sit  down,  sir,  if  you  please. 

{Jliffhland  Chieftain  sits  down  at  Mr.  North'' s  right  hand.) 

Mr.  Seward.  Well,  did  he  not  look  every  inch  a  King,*  this  even- 
ing 1  A  King  of  Great  Britain,  France,  and  Ireland,  ought,  if  possi- 
sible,  be  a  man  worth  looking  at.  His  subjects  expect  it,  and  it  is 
but  reasonable  they  should. 

Mr.  North.  Fame  does  no  more  than  justice  to  his  bow.  It  is 
most  princely — so — or  rather  so.     Is  that  like  him  1 

*  In  August,  1822,  George  IV.  visited  Scotland.  He  had  visited  Ireland  and  Hanover  in  the 
preceding  year.  He  remained  in  the  vicinity  of  Edinburgh  (the  guest  of  the  Duke  of  Buc- 
cleugh,  at  Dalkeith  Palace,  within  six  miles  of  the  capital,)  for  fifteen  days,  and  his  return 
•was  hastened  by  the  intelligence  that  the  Marquis  of  Londonderry,  Foreign  Secretary,  had 
committed  suicide  in  London.  When  he  vv-as  proceeding,  amid  tens  of  thousands^  to  the 
Palace  of  Holyrood,  the  ancient  abode  of  the  Scottish  Kings,  the  demeanor  of  the  multitude 
was  so  quiet  and  respectful  (very  unlike  the  wild  enthusiasm  which  greeted  him  at  Dublin) 
that  he  said  "  This  is  a  nation  of  gentlemen."  This  compliment  is  referred  to,  over  and  over 
again,  in   the  following  Noctes. — M. 


1822.]  THE   EOYAL   VISIT.  227 

OdoJterty.-  No  more  than  a  hop-pole  is  like  a  palm-tree,  or  the 
Editor  of  the  Edinburgh  Review  like  him  of  Blackwood's  Magazine. 
The  King's  bow  shows  him  to  be  a  man  of  genius  ;  for,  mark  me,  he 
has  no  model  to  go  by.*  He  must  not  bow  like  the  Duke  of  Argyll, 
or  Lord  Fife,  well  as  they  bow,  but  like  a  King.  And  he  does  so. 
The  King  is  a  man  of  genius. 

Mr.  Blackwood.  Do  you  think,  sirs,  that  the  King  would  become  a 
contributor  to  the  Magazine  %  I  have  sent  his  Majesty  a  set  splen- 
didly bound  by 

Mr.  North.  Hush,  Ebony,  leave  that  to  me.  You  must  not  inter- 
fere with  the  Editorial  department. 

Mr.  Buller.  What  do  you  Scotch  mean  by  calling  yourselves  a 
grave  people ;  and  by  saying  that  you  are  not,  like  the  Irish,  absurd 
in  the  expression  of  your  loyalty  1  I  never  heard  such  thunder  in  a 
Theatre  before. 

Odoherty.  I  would  have  given  twenty  ten-pennies  that  some  of  the 
young  ladies  in  the  pit  had  remembered  that  a  pocket  handkerchief 
should  not  be  used  longer  than  a  couple  of  days.  Some  of  the  lite- 
rary gentlemen  too,  showed  snuffy  signals.  But  the  coup  d''ceil  was 
imposing. 

Buller.  I  hate  all  invidious  national  distinctions.  Let  every 
people  hail  their  King  in  their  own  way. 

Odoherty.  To  be  sure  they  should.  But  then  the  Scotch  are  "  a 
nation  of  Gentlemen  ;"  and  the  Irish  "  a  nation  of  ragamuffins  ;"  and 
the  English  "a  nation  of  shopkeepers."     How  then? 

Mr.  North.  His  Majesty  knows  better  than  to.  satirize  us.  We 
are  not  a  nation  of  gentlemen — thank  God  ; — but  the  greater  part  of 
our  population  is  vulgar,  intelligent,  high-cheeked,  raw-boned,  and 
religious. 

Mr.  Seward.  I  could  not  help  smiling,  when  I  looked  across  the  pit 
and  along  the  boxes  this  evening,  at  the  compliment  towards  your- 
selves as  a  nation,  which  some  self-sufficient  soul  put  into  his  Majesty's 
mouth.  I  never  saw  a  more  vulgar  pit  in  my  life.  The  women 
looked  as  if 

Odoherty.  One  and  all  of  them  could  have  kissed  the  King.  But, 
Seward,  my  boy,  you  are  mistaken  in  calling  the  pit  vulgar.  Your 
taste  has  been  vitiated,  Seward,  by  Oxford  Milliners,  and 

Mr.  North.  The  conversation  is  wandering.     (  Turning  to  the  Chief- 

*  Byron  admits  the  fascination  of  this  bow.    In  Don  Juan  we  have 
"  There,  too,  he  saw  (whate'er  he  may  be  now) 

A  Prince,  the  prince  of  princes  at  the  time, 
With  fascination  in  his  very  bow. 

And  full  of  promise,  as  the  spring  of  prim.e. 
Though  royalty  was  written  on  his  brow, 

He  had  then  the  grace,  too  rare  in  every  clime, 
Of  being,  without  alloy  of  fop  or  beau, 
A  finished  gentleman  from  top  to  toe." — M. 


228  NOCTES   AMBROSIANJE. 


[Sept. 


tai7i.)  I  saw  you  talking  to  the  Thane  in  the  Theatre.*  Would  to 
heaven  you  had  brought  him  here  ! 

Chieftain.  He  is  gone  to  Dalkeith  or  he  M^ould  have  come. 

Mr.  North.  How  popular  the  Thane  is  all  over  Scotland.  Depend 
upon  it,  gentlemen,  that  the  best  man  is,  in  general,  the  most  popular. 
Nothing  but  generosity  and  goodness  will  make  peasants  love  peers. 

Mr.  Blackwood.  His  Lordship  never  comes  to  town  without  calling 
at  the  shop. 

Enter  Mr.  Ambrose  and  Waiters  with  rizzard  haddocks.,  cut  of  warm 
salmon^  my,irfowl^  and  haggis. 

Mr.  Tickler.  Adjutant,  I  will  drink  a  pot  of  porter  with  you — 
The  King, — (three  times  three — surgunt  omnes) — Hurra,  hurra, 
hurra — Hurra,  hurra,  hurra — Hurra,  hurra,  hurra  !  (  Coniicuere 
omnes.) 

Mr.  North.  Odoherty,  be  pleased  to  act  as  croupier. 

Odoherty.  More  porter. 

Mr.  Tickler.  Did  you  see  how  the  whole  pit  fixed  its  face  on  the 
King's — till  the  play  began?  It  was  grand.  North.  His  eye  met 
that  loyal  "  glower"  with  mild  and  dignified  composure.  The  King, 
North,  was  happy.  I'll  swear  he  was.  He  saw  that  he  had  our 
hearts.  Every  note  of  "  God  save  the  King"  went  dirling  though 
my  very  soul-strings.     I'm  as  hoarse  as  a  howlet. 

Mr.  North.  I  think  the  people  feel  proud  of  their  King.  As  he 
past  the  platform  where  I  stood,  on  his  entrance  into  Edinburgh,  I 
heard  a  countryman  say  to  his  neighbor, — "  Look,  Jock  ;  look,  Jock, 
— isna  he  an  honest-looking  chiel  1  Gude  faith,  Jock,  he's  just  like 
my  ain  father." 

Mr.  Seward.  Curse  the  Radicals!  A  king  must  abhor  even  a 
single  hiss  from  the  vilest  of  his  subjects.  The  King,  Mr.  North,  is 
with  us  as  popular  a  King  as  ever  reigned  in  England.  He  has  only 
to  show  himself  oftener,  and  — 

Mr.  Buller.  I  have  seen  the  king  in  public  often  ;  but  I  never  saw 
him  insulted  except  in  the  newspapers.  The  "  Scotsman  in  London" 
is  a  common  character. 

Odoherty.  Mr.  Seward,  a  little  haggis.  See  "  its  hurdles  like  twa 
distant  hills." 

Mr.  Seward.  What  are  hurdles  ? 

Mr.  Tickler.  See  Dr.  Jamieson. 

Chieftain.  Mr.  North,  I  am  delighted.     I  hope  I  may  say  so  with- 
out flattery.     I  never  drank  better  Glenlivet. — Why,  gentlemen,  not 
come  and  pay  me  a  visit  this  autumn  1     No  occasion  for  a  tent.     I 
am  a  bachelor,  and  have  few  children. 
Odoherty.  Settled. — Name  your  day. 

*  The  Earl  of  Fife  ;— he  has  already  been  introduced  to  the  reader  in  "The  Tent."— M. 


1822.]  LAY   OF   THE   KILT.  229 

Chieftain.  14th  of  September.  I  cannot  be  home  sooner.  Is  it 
a  promise  % 

Omnes.  14th  of  September.     We  swear  !  ! 

Odoherty.  Well  done,  old  Mole,  in  the  cellarage. — Hamlet — see 
Shakspeare. 

Enter  Mr.  Ambrose. 

M7\  Ambrose.  Mr.  North,  a  communication. 
Tickler.  Read — read. 

Mr.  North.  I  cannot  say  I  am  quite  able  to  do  so.  My  eyes  are  a 
little  hazy  or  so.     But  there  is  the  letter,  Tickler. — Up  with  it. 

Tickler.^  (reads.) 

De'il  tak  the  kilts  !  For  fifty  year,  nae  honest  soon  of  Reikie's 

Wad  ever  think  to  walk  the  streets,  denuded  o'  his  breekies. 

And  ony  kilted  drover  lad,  wi'  kyloes  or  a  letter, 

Was  pitied,  or  was  glower'd  at,  "  Puir  chiel,  he  kens  nae  better  ;" 

And  apple-wives  look'd  sidelins,  and  thocht  he  came  to  steal  or  beg, 

Whene'er  they  saw  a  callant  wi'  his  hurdles  in  a  philabeg  * 

And  even  chiefs  o'  clans  themselves,  whene'er  they  ran  to  towns,  man, 

Were  fain  to  clothe  their  hairy  knees  in  breeks,  or  pantaloons,  man. 

But  now  !  Lord  bless  your  soul !  there's  no  a  Lawland  writer  laddie 

Can  wheedle  a  pund  note  or  twa  frae  his  auld  cankered  daddie, 

But  aff  he  sets,  (though  born  betwixt  St.  Leonard's  an  Drumsheugh)  an 

He  fits  himsel'  wi'  bannet,  plaid,  and  hose,  and  kilt,  and  spleuchan.f 

Ye'se  ken  the  cause  o'  a'  the  steer; — the  Heeland  Dhuine  Wassalsij: 

Began  to  tire  o'  wearin'  breeks  whene'er  they  left  their  castles ; 

So  they  coaxed  the  honest  citizens  to  join  in  a  convention 

To  tak'  the  corduroy  from  off  the  pairt  I  daurna  mention ; 

That,  like  the  tod|l  that  tint  his  tail,  they  mightna  cause  derision, 

And  find  their  faces  in  a  flame,  while  elsewhere  they  were  freezin. 

The  town's-lads  snappit  at  the  plan,  and  thus  began  the  Celtic, 

A  medley  strange  frae  every  land,  frae  off  the  shores  o'  B^tic  ; 

Frae  England,  Ireland,  Scotland  ;  Boi'der  lairds  and  ancient  British, 

There  were  Dutchmen,  Danes,  and  Portuguese,  and  French  and  Otaheitish ; 

And  a'  professions,  frae  the  lad  that's  only  just  apprenticed. 

To  the  great  hero  of  the  west — e'en  Doctor  Scott  the  Dentist — 

And  they  wad  dine,  and  drink,  and  strut,  as  big's  Macallum  More,  sir. 

And  skraigh  attempts  at  Gaelic  words,  until  their  throats  were  sore,  sir. 

An'  a'  was  canty  for  a  while,  for  these  were  still  their  gay  days, 

An'  a'  could  lend  a  hand  to  pay  for  balls  gi'en  to  the  ladies  ; 

And  there  they  dane'd  the  Highland  fling,  and  kick'd  their  kilts  and  toes  up, 

Tho'  whiles  their  ruler-shapit  legs  refused  to  keep  their  hose  up. 

But  when  the  pawky  Highland  lairds  had  fairly  set  the  fashion. 

Up  gets  an  angry  Chief  o'  Chiefs  in  a  prodigious  passion  : 

"  Fat  Teil  hae  you  to  do  wi'  kilts,  gae  wa'  and  get  your  claes  on. 

Get  out,  ye  nasty  Lowland  poys,  and  put  your  preeks  and  stays  on ; 

*  Hurdles  in  a  philabefr, — his  buttocks  in  a  kilt. — M. 
^Spleuchan  ; — tobacco-pouch. — M. 

i  Dunnie-wassal.—A   Highland  gentleman,  generally  the    cadet  of  a  family  of  rank,  who 
received  his  title  from  the  land  he  occupied,  though  held  at  the  will  of  his  chieftain. — M. 
II  Tod— A¥ox.—M. 


230  NOCTES   AMBROSIAN^.  .[Sept. 

Ye  shanna  wear  your  elaes  like  me,  I  look  on  you  as  ferriiin, 

Ye  hae  nae  mair  o'  Highland  pluid  than  if  you  were  a  Cherman."* 

This  sets  them  up,  "  Chairman  indeed  !     Ye  never  shall  be  ours,  sir  I 

Except  it  he  to  carry  us  when  we  go  out  of  doors,  sir  ! 

Like  ithers  o'  your  kinti-a  men."     And  thus  they  flyte  thegither, 

And  hand  the  hail  town  in  a  steer,  expellin'  ane  anither. 

And  how  the  bus  uess  is  to  end,  is  mair  than  I  can  tell,  sir. 

Indeed  it  seems  to  fickle  and  perplex  the  Sheriff's  sell,  sir ; 

But  this  I  ken,  that  folk  that's  wise  think  they  maun  be  nae  witches, 

Wha  ever  let  a  Highland  Kernf  entice  them  out  o'  breeches. 

Highland  Chief.  Come,  gentlemen,  if  you  please,  I  will  propose  a 
toast, — "  Glengarry  !"  His  Majesty  would  not  have  sent  the  mes- 
sage he  did  to  the  chiefs,  if  he  had  not  been  pleased  with  them  and 
their  highlanders.J 

Omnes.  Glengarry.     Hurra,  hurra,  hurra  ! 

Odoherty.  What  does  Glengarry  mean  by  saying  that  few  mem- 
bers of  the  Celtic  Society  could  shoot  an  eagle  1  It  is  easier,  a 
damned  deal  easier,  to  shoot  an  eagle  than  a  peacock.  But  the 
easiest  way  of  any  is  to  knock  an  eagle  down  with  a  shillelah. 

Mr.  Seward.  Do  you  shy  the  shillelah  at  his  head  from  a  distance  1 

Odoherty.  No.  I  refer  to  the  Chieftain.  You  must  walk  slowly 
up  to  him  at  the  rate  of  about  four  miles  an  hour,  (Townsend,  the 
pedestrian,  would  do  it  half  backwards  and  half  forwards,)  and  hit 
him  over  the  periwig  with  your  sapling. 

Chieftain.  Perfectly  true.  When  an  eagle  has  eat  a  sheep  or  a 
roe,  he  sits  as  heavy  as  a  Dutchman — cannot  take  wing — and  you 
may  bag  him  alive  if  you  choose.  The  shepherds  often  fling  their 
plaids  over  him.  But  let  him  take  wing,  and  he  darkens  the  sun- 
disk  like  an  eclipse. 

Mr.  Blackwood.  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  but  I  should  wish  much  to 
have  a  sound,  sensible  Article  on  the  State  of  the  Highlands  of  Scot- 
land. I  suspect  there  is  much  misrepresentation  as  to  the  alleged 
cruelty  and  impolicy  of  large  farms.  Dog  on  it,  will  any  man 
tell  me,  sir,  that  — 

*  German.— C.  N.         f  Kerne.— X  freebooter.— M. 

+  Every  one  seemed  to  have  ^one  mad  on  the  subject  of  Highland  costume,  the  use  of  which 
had  been  prohibited  by  the  19th,  George  II.  The  late  Sir  John  Sinclair,  in  the  early  part  of 
the  present  century,  had  this  act  repealed  ;  and  although  this  took  place  in  mid-winter,  all  the 
Highlanders  north  of  Stirling  threw  off  the  hated  breeches,  and  adopted  the  cooler  and  more 
ventilatory  kilt  I  ^ven  a,t  his  first  levee,  George  IV.  appeared  in  full  Highland  garb — which 
no  royal  Stuart,  Prince  Charles  excepted,  had  ever  worn  in  Holyrood.  General  Stewart,  of 
Garth,  assisted  at  this  Celtic  toilet,  and  saw  that  the  king  was  correctly  attired.  There,  too, 
in  the  same  costume,  appeared  the  bulky  frame  of  the  London  alderman  and  banker,  Sir  Wil- 
liam Curtis,  (immortalized  in  Don  Juan,  as 

"  The  witless  Falstaff  to  a  hoary  Hal,") 
whose  appearance,  in  such  a  garb,  was  very  ludicrous.  When  the  King  was  about  leaving 
Scotland,  an  official  letter  was  addressed  by  the  late  Sir  Robert  Peel,  then  Home  Secretary,  in 
which,  after  thanking  Scott,  for  his  own  immense  and  successful  efforts  to  make  the  royal  visit 
a  pleasant  one,  he  added,  ''  The  king  wishes  to  make  you  the  channel  of  conveying  to  the 
Highland  Chiefs  and  their  followers,  who  have  given  to  the  varied  scene,  which  we  have  wit- 
nessed, so  peculiar  and  romantic  a  character,  his  particular  thanks  for  their  attendance,  and 
his  warm  approbation  of  their  uniform  deportment." — M. 


1822.]  OSSIAN.  231 

Chieftain.  Mr.  Blackwood,  I  wish  I  could  write  an  article  of  the 
kind  you  mention.  You  are  a  gentleman  of  liberal  sentiments.  In 
twenty  years  the  Highlands  will  be  happier  than  they  ever  have 
been  since  the  days  of  Ossian.  Lowland  lairds  have  no  right  to 
abuse  us  for  departing  from  the  savage  state. 

Blackwood.  Could  you  let  us  have  it  for  next  Number,  sir  1  We 
stand  in  need  of  such  articles  prodigiously — sound,  sensible,  statisti- 
cal articles,  full  of  useful  information.  We  have  wit,  fun,  fancy, 
and  feeling,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing  in  abundance,  but  we  are  short 
of  useful  information.  We  want  facts — a  Number  now  an4  then, 
with  less  fun  and  more  facts,  would  take,  and  promote  the  sale  with 
dull  people.     Yes,  it  is  a  fact,  that  we  want  facts. 

Odoherty.  Damn  your  Magazine,  Ebony  !  You  gave  Napoleon 
no  rest  at  St.  Helena  till  he  becanie  a  contributor.  You  are  begin- 
ning to  send  sly  hints  to  theJCing.  And  here  we  have  you  smelling 
as  strong  of  the  shop  as  a  bale  of  brown  paper,  dunning  the  Chieftain 
the  very  first  time  he  has  come  among  us. 

Mr.  Seward.  Chieftain,  you  mentioned  Ossian — may  I  ask  if  his 
Poems  are  authentic'? 

Chieftain.  As  authentic  as  the  heather  and  the  hail  on  our  misty 
mountains.* 

Mr.  Seward.  Wordsworth  the  poet  says,  that  in  Ossian's  Poems, 
every  thing  is  looked  at  as  if  it  were  one,  but  that  nothing  in  nature 
is  so  looked  at  by  a  great  poet.  Therefore,  Ossian's  poetry  is  bad, 
and  written  by  Macpherson. 

Chieftain.  I  have  not  the  pleasure  of  being  familiar  with  Mr. 
Wordsworth's  name  or  writings.  Neither  do  I  understand  one  syl- 
lable of  what  you  have  now  said.  Ossian's  poetry  is  not  bad.f  Did 
the  gentleman  you  speak  of  ever  see  a  lake  or  a  mountain  % 

Buller,  He  lives  on  the  banks  of  a  tarn  about  a  mile  round 
about. 

Chieftain.  I  am  sorry  for  him. 

Mr.  North.  He  also  says,  if  I  recollect  rightly,  that  Ossian 
speaks  of  car-borne  chiefs  in  Morven — but  that  Morven  is  inacces- 
sible to  cars. 

Odoherty.  So  it  is  to  jaunting  cars.  Wordsworth  was  in  a  sort 
of  mongrel  shandrydan,  a  cross  between  a  gig  and  a  tax-cart ;  and 

*  Sir  Walter  Scott's  opinion  on  the  authenticity  of  Ossian's  Poems  ought  to  be  conclusive. 
Scott  was  a  man  so  thoroughly  national,  that  he  would  almost  strain  a  point  rather  than  part 
with  any  belief  likely  to  do  credit  to  Scotland.  His  deliberate  opinion  was  this: — "After 
making  every  allowance  for  the  disadvantages  of  a  literal  translation,  and  the  possible  debase- 
ment which  those  now  collected  may  have  suffered, on  the  great  and  violent  change  which  the 
Highlands  have  undergone,  since  the  researches  of  Macpherson,  I  am  compelled  to  admit  that, 
incalculably  the  greater  part  of  the  English  Ossian  must  be  ascribed  to  Macpherson  himself, 
and  that  his  whole  introductions,  notes,  &c.  &c.,  are  an  absolute  tissue  of  forgeries." — M. 

f  So  thought  Napoleon,  who  was  quite  Ossian-struck  at  one  period  of  his  life,  before  he  wore 
the  imperial  purple.  It  was  by  way  of  compliment  to  this  fancy,  and  with  the  tact  of  a  cour- 
tier, (rough  soldier  as  he  affected  to  be,)  that  Bernadotte  gave  his  eldest  son  the  name  of  one  of 
Ossian's  heroes.     Since  1844,  he  has  been  Oscar,  king  of  Sweden.— M. 


232  NOCTES  AMBKOSIANiE.  [Sept. 

no  wonder  he  was  shy  of  Morven.  But  unless  he  had  been  a  most 
ignorant  person  indeed,  (all  poets  are  ignorant,)  he  would  have 
known  that  there  are  cars  in  Morven  to  this  day. 

Chieftain.  There  are — and  scientifically  constructed,  though  of  old 
date.  I  have  seen  the  Highlanders  coming  down  the  steep  and  rocky 
hills  with  them,  full  of  peats,  with  a  rapidity  that  would  have  pleased 
Fingal  himself.  Besides  there  are  many  straths  and  level  places  in 
Morven. 

Mr.  North.  Pray,  were  not  all  the  Highlands  once  called  "  Mor- 
ven V\ 

Chieftain.  They  were,  not  unfrequently,  nor  by  a  few. 

Odoherty.  So  goes  the  flummery  of  the  water-drinking  laker  about 
Ossian, — the  bard  who  brewed  his  own  whisky,  and  drank  like  a 
whale. 

Mr.  Tickler.  Tell  Wordsworth  to  let  other  people's  poetry  alone, 
from  Ossian  to  Pope,  and  make  his  own  a  little  better.  Who  pre- 
fers Alice  Fell  to  Malvina  %  or  Peter  Bell  to  Abelard  1  Oh  !  that 
the  English  lakes  were  all  connected  by  canals  !  A  few  steamboats 
from  Glasgow  would  soon  blow  up  their  poetry.  Wishy-washy 
stuff  indeed  ! 

Mr.  North.  Our  conversation,  gentlemen,  is  degenerating  into  lite- 
rature.    I  will  fine  the  first  of  you  that  tattles  in  a  bumper. 

Odoherty.  The  Paradise  Lost  of  Milton  has  ever  ap 

Mr.  Tickler.  He  blabs  for  a  bumper.     But  in  with  the  salt. 

Mr.  Blackwood.  One  of  the  great  merits  of  The  Magazine  is  that 
it  has  less  literature 

Odoherty.  Than  libels. 

Mr.  Blackwood^  {rising.)  Mr.  Odoherty,  I  have  lately  seen  you 
walking  on  all  occasions  with  the  enemy  %  Did  you  review  O'Meara 
in  the  Edinburgh  1 

Odoherty.  No,  no,  my  good  fellow  ;  they  throw  out  their  bait,  but 
I  won't  nibble. 

Mr.  Blackwood.  All  I  know  is,  that  it  is  at  once  more  honorable 
and  more  lucrative  to  write  in  our  Maga,  than  in  any  other  existing 
work. 

Mr.  Tickler^  {ringing  the  bell.)  What  cackling,  as  of  geese,  is  that 
we  hear  through  the  partition  1 — Mr.  Ambrose,  remove  that  side- 
board, and  throw  open  these  folding-doors. 

Mr.  Ambrose.  There  is  a  small  party  in  the  next  room,  Mr.  Tickler. 

Mr.  Tickler.  I  want  to  count  them. 

{Sideboard  is  removed^  and  doors  flung  open.) 


1822.]  SCOTTISH   POLITICS.  233 


SCENE  II. 

Odoherty.  Whigs — Whigs — a  nest  of  Whigs.  A  conspiracy 
against  our  lord  the  King.     How  do  you,  Mr.  Bunting  ? 

Mr.  Bunting.  I  scarcely  understand  this,  Mr.  Odoherty.  But, 
during  the  King's  Visit,  all  party  distinctions  should  be  forgotten.  I 
hope  you  did  not  cry,  Whigs,  Whigs,  Whigs,  offensively. 

Mr.  North.  Young  gentleman,  we  have  been  all  Whigs  in  our  day. 
It  is  a  disease  of  the  constitution.  Will  you  and  your  friends  join 
our  table  ]     Help  Mr.  Bunting  to  some  haggis. 

Buller.  This  is  a  formidable  coalition.  It  is  as  bad  as  Mr.  Fox 
joining  Lord  North.* 

Mr.  Blackwood.  Mr.  Bunting,  I  seldom  see  you  or  any  of  your 
friends  about  the  shop  now-a-days.  I  hope,  now  that  the  King  comes 
to  see  us,  you  will  step  up  the  front-steps.  [Aside  to  Mr.  Bunting.) — ■ 
Are  not  these  three  of  the  Seven  Young  Men  1 

Mr.  Bunting.  I  was  glad  to  see  the  King,  and  I  trust  he  will  not 
be  misinformed  of  our  sentiments  towards  him.  I  respect  him  as  the 
chief  magistrate. 

Mr.  Tickler.  That  is  infernal  nonsense.  Master  Bunting,  begging 
your  pardon.  Have  you  no  feeling,  no  fancy,  no  imagination.  Master 
Bunting.  Your  heart  ought  to  leap  at  the  word  King,  as  at  the  sound 
of  a  trumpet.  Chief  magistrate  ! — humbug.  Do  you  love  your 
own  father,  because  he  was  once  Provost  of  Crail  %  No,  no,  Master 
Bunting,  that  won't  pass  at  Ambrose's. 

Young  Man.  I  hope  that  the  King's  Visit  will  be  productive  of 
some  substantial  and  lasting  benefit  to  this  portion  of  the  united 
empire. 

Mr.  North.  What  do  you  mean  %  Mention  what  ought  to  be  done, 
and  I  will  give  a  hint  to  Mr.  Peel. 

Young  Man.  In  my  opinion  the  question  of  borough  reform 

Odohert]].  Sheep's  head  or  trotters,  sir  % 

Mr.  Bunting.  Unless  his  majesty's  ministers  assist  the  Greeks,  and 
ransom  the  young  women  ravished  from  their  native Scio  into  Turkish 
harems,  the  inhabitants  of  modern  Athens  will 

Odoherty.  What  will  they  do  % — But  I  agree  with  you,  Mr.  Bunt- 
ing, in  thinking  the  Greek  girls  deucedly  handsome.  Were  you 
ever  in  Scio  % 

Mr.  Bunting.  No.     But  I  attended  a  meeting  t'other  day,  at  which 

*  Fox  and  Lord  North  had  been  in  the  habit  of  grossly  abusin<j  each  other,  in  public  and  in 
private.  In  April,  1782,  they  formed  a  Coalition,  and  entered  the  Cabinet  together, — mucli 
against  the  King's  will.  In  the  following  December,  Fox's  India  Bill  was  rejected  by  tho 
House  of  Lords.  The  same  evening,  Fox  and  Lord  North  were  literally  turned  out  of  office  by 
the  King.  Lord  North  never  again  entered  it,  and  it  was  nearly  23  years,  before — for  tho  last 
few  months  of  his  life—Fox  again  was  in  place. — M. 


234  NOCTES    AMBEOSlAJf^.  [Sept. 

the  affairs  in  general  of  Greece  were  admirably  discussed.     And  are 
we  to  countenance  rape,  robbery,  and  murder  1 

Odoherty.  Why,  I  don't  know.  As  an  Irishman,  I  am  scarcely 
entitled  to  answer  in  the  negative.  But  what  has  all  this  blarney  to 
do  with  King  George  the  Fourth's  Visit  to  Scotland  1 

Mr.  Blackwood.  I  will  be  very  happy  to  give  Mr.  Bunting,  or 
any  of  his  Whig  friends,  five  guineas  for  an  article  of  moderate  size, 
containing  a  ^qw  facts  about  the  Greeks.  Pray,  Mr.  Bunting,  what 
may  be  the  population  of  the  isle  of  Scio  1 

Mr.  Bunting^  [after  a  pause.)  Well — well — I  shall  not  push  the 
conversation  any  farther  in  that  direction.  The  haggis  is  most  excel- 
lent. Mr.  North,  may  I  have  the  honor  to  pledge  you  in  a  pot  of 
porter  1 

Odoherty^  {ringing  the  bell.)  Pipes.^    (They  are  brought  in.) 

Mr.  Tickler.  No  spitting-boxes.     They  are  filthy. 

Mr.  North.  Where  art  thou,  Odoherty  1  I  discern  thee  not 
through  this  dense  cloud  of  smoke. 

Odoherty.  We  may  all  come  and  go  without  being  missed.  I  have 
an  appointment  at  one  o'clock. 

Voice^  as  of  one  of  the  Young  Men.  L  have  just  been  perusing  the 
fresh  number  of  the  Edinburgh  Review.  I  scarcely  think  that  the 
Duke  of  Wellington  will  go  to  the  Congress — after  it. 

Mr.  Tickler.  Has  Frank  Jeffrey  stultified  the  Duke  of  Wel- 
lington 1 

Voice^  as  of  one  of  the  Young  Men.  Bonaparte,  Benjamin  Con- 
stant, Madame  de  Stael,  John  Allen,  Esq.,  Sir  James  Mackintosh, 
and  Jeffrey  himself,  all  think  him  un  homme  borne. 

Mr.  Seward.  Pray,  sir — I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I  do  not  see  you 
very  distinctly  ;  what  do  you  mean  by  un  homme  borne  '?  How  do 
you  translate  the  words  ? 

Voice.,  as  of  one  of  the  Young  Men.  I  am  no  French  scholar ;  but 
it  sounds  like  French.  It  is  an  epithet  of  opprobrium.  The  precise 
meaning  is  of  no  consequence  to  our  argument. 

Odoherty.  O  !  the  Duke  of  Wellington  is  an  ass  !  what  a  pity  ! — 
Who  is  that  sick  in  that  corner  1 — Waiter,  waiter.  Throw  open  the 
window — down  pipes,  till  it  clears  off  a  little.  Soho  !  it  is  my 
eloquent  young  Man  of  the  Mist  ? — Carry  him  out,  Ambrose — there 
he  is  un  homme  borne.  ^ 

Mr.  Bunting.  We,  all  of  us,  hate  smoking.  But,  Mr.  North-^ 
gentlemen — good  night. 

[Exeunt  Mr.  Bunting  and  the  Young  Men.) 

Mr.  Buller..  Are  these  a  fair  specimen  of  your  young  Edinburgh 
Whigs  1 

Mr.  North.  I  fear  they  are.  Their  feebleness  quite  distresses  us. 
Jeffrey  himself,  I  am  told,  is  unhappy  about  it.     What  am  I  doing  ? 


1822.] 


WELCOME   THE   KING."  235 


lighting  my  pipe  with  an  article  that  I  have  not  read.  There,  (fling- 
ing it  over  to  Buller)  read  it  aloud  for  the  general  edification  and 
delight. 

Buller  reads. 

TO    CHRISTOPHER    NORTH,  ESQ., 

From  an  occasional  Contributor,  living  at  Cape  Clear,  who  was  applied 
to  for  an  article  about  the  King  in  Edinburgh. 

1. 

Chief  of  scribblers  !  "Wondrous  Editor ! 

Why  d'ye  seek  assistance  here  ? 
Little  you'd  gain  of  praise,  or  credit,  or 
Any  thing  else  by  me,  my  dear. 
Those  who,  like  Boreas, 
Greeted  uproarious. 
Visit  so  glorious,  loudly  should  sing, 
How  Miss  Edina, 
Looking  so  fine-a, 
Smart  and  divine-a,  welcomed  the  King, 

2. 

Qne  would  think  it  only  rational. 

That  you  had  poets  there  on  the  spot  : 
Stir  up  your  own  Bard  truly  national, 
First  of  all  Minstrels,  Sir  Walter  Scott : 

High  o'er  Fahrenheit, 

Our  hearts  are  in  heat. 
When  that  Baronet  thrums  the  string. 

Can  he  refuse  us 

Aid  from  his  muses  ? 
No,  no,  he  chooses  to  welcome  the  King. 

3. 
Have  you  not  there,  too,  Crabbe,  the  veteran  ? 

Ask  that  old  poet  to  do  the  job. 
For  describing,  show  me  a  better  one, 
Bailies  or  beggarmen,  flunkies  or  mob: 
Hubbub,  bobbery, 
Crowd  and  mobbery, 
For  all  such  jobbery  he's  the  thing. 
So  then  for  a  bard, 
List  the  Borough  Bard, 
Being  a  thorough  bard  to  welcome  the  King.* 

*  [n  1821.  at  John  Murray's,  in  London,  Sir  Walter  Scott  was  introduced  to  Crabbe,  the  poet, 
■who  promised  to  visit  him.  He  arrived  in  August,  1822,  when  Scott  was  immersed  in  what 
has  truly  been  called  "  the  tumultuous  preparations"  for  the  King's  visit.  Scott  could  give 
little  of  his  time  to  Crabbe,  who  was  astonished  (as  it  were),  at  the  fulness  and  freshness  of 
Scottish  loyalty.  Lockhart  had  just  cause  for  lamenting  (in  his  Life  of  Scott),  that  the 
English  bard  had  not  seen  the  Scottish,  "  at  Abbotsford  among  his  books,  his  trees,  and  his  own 
good  simple  peasants."  In  fact,  Scott  had  little  time  for  private  matters.  Scott's  family, 
says  his  son-in-law.  were  more  fortunate  than  himself  in  this  respect.  They  had  from  infancy 
been  taught  to  reverence  Crabbe's  genius,  and  they  now  saw  enough  of  him  to  make  them 
think  of  him  ever  afterwards  with  tender  affection.  At  this  time,  Crabbe  was  68  years  old,  and 
Scott  51.     Crabbe  died  in  1834,  aged  eighty  ;  Scott  in  1832,  aged  sixty-one.— M. 


236  NOCTES   AMBEOSIANiEJ.  [Sept. 

4. 

Mr.  Croly,  my  brother  Irishman, 

Was  there  with  you,  as  I  am  told ; 
He,  I  think,  could  give  you  a  flourish,  man. 
In  verses  bright  of  gems  and  gold. 

Soho,  Cataline ! 

Prime  hand  at  a  lin.e  ! 
Haste,  and  rattle  in  your  verse  to  bring ; 

Singing  so  gorgeous, 

How  knight  and  burgess, 
Throng'd  round  Great  Georgius,  welcomed  the  King. 

5. 
Then,  there's  another  to  do  it  cleverly, 

He  the  great  poet  who  writes  in  prose ; 
Sure  I  mean  the  Author  of  Waverley, 
Whoe'er  he  be,  if  any  one  knows. 
Truce  to  Peveril ! 
There  are  several 
People  who  never  will  miss  the  things 
If  he  will  vapor 
On  hot-press'd  paper. 
And  cut  a  caper  to  welcome  the  King. 

6. 
Or  ask  Wilson,  the  grave  and  serious 
Poet,  who  sung  of  the  Palmy  Isle  ; 
Or  the  sweet  fellow  who  wrote  Valerius 

(Pray,  what's  his  name  ?)  would  do  it  in  style. 
Could  you  get  once 
Some  of  these  great  ones, 
Tender  or  sweet  ones  for  you  to  sing, 
•  We'd  think  the  lasses 

Had  left  Parnassus, 
To  sing  trebles  and  basses,  to  welcome  the  King. 

M7\  Seward.  I  have  had  enough  of  "  tobacco  reek."  0,  for  a  gulp 
of  fresh  air ! 

Chief tai7i.  The  barge  of  the  Duke  of  Atholl  is  now  lying  near  the 
Chain  Pier  1  It  is  under  my  orders.  Might  1  propose  a  water-party  1 
I  can  have  her  manned  with  ten  oars  in  ten  minutes. 
Mr.  North.  With  all  my  heart.  I  am  fond  of  aquatics. 
Omnes,  {crowding  around  the  Editor.)  Take  my  box-coat — No,  no, 
my  cloak — here  is  my  wrap-rascal.  Tie  my  Barcelona  round  your 
neat  neck.*     Ring  for  a  coach  and  six. 

[Exeunt  Mr.  North,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  the  Highland  Chief — 
and  Mr.  Ambrose  with  a  flaming  branch  of  wax-lights  in  each 
hand.) 

END     of     act     first. 

*  The  line  occurs  in  the  song  of  "  The  Sprig  of  Shillelah,"  in  which  an  Irishman,  at  Donny- 
Tjrook  Fair,  is  described  as  wearing  "  a  new  Barcelona  tied  round  his  nate  neck."  The 
Barcelona  was  a  thick  silk  handkerchief,  boasting  of  many  bright  hues,  among  which  mustard- 
color  was  predominant.    It  was  "  neat  but  not  gaudy." — M. 


1822.]  MODERN  ATHENS.  237 

ACT  IL 
SCENE  l.—^DuJce  of  AtholVs  Barge  off  the  Chain  Pier,  Newhaven. 

Chieftain.  She  pulls  ten  oars.  Mr.  North,  will  you  take  the  helm  1 
I  ask  no  better  Palinurus. 

Mr.  North.  I  am  but  a  fresh-water  sailor ;  yet  in  my  day  I  have 
sailed  a  few  thousand  leagues.  Byron  says  he  has  swam  more 
leagues  than  all  the  living  poets  of  Great  Britain  have  sailed,  with 
one  or  two  exceptions.  Had  he  said  the  living  critics,  he  had  grossly 
erred. 

Odoherty.  Coxswain,  give  North  the  tiller.  Now,  lads,  down  with 
your  oars — splash — splash.     Are  we  all  on  board  % 

Omnes.  All — all — all — pull  away. 

Mr.  North.  For  the  King's  yacht.  Beautifully  feathered  !  Remem- 
ber whom  you  have  on  board  ! 

Buller.  Seward !  this  beats  Brazen-nose.  Yet  I  wish  one  of  old 
Davis's  wherries  were  here,  to  show  how  an  arrow  whizzes  from  a 
bow. 

Mr.  North.  Seward — Buller, •  behold  the  Queen  of  the  North! 
What  think  you  of  the  Castle,  with  the  crescent  moon  hung  over  her 
for  a  banner  %  The  city  lights  are  not  afraid  to  confront  the  stars. 
I  hope  Arthur's  Ghost  is  on  his  mountain-throne  to-night.  Yonder 
goes  a  fire-balloon.  See  how  the  stationary  stars  mock  that  transient 
flight  of  rockets.  Yonder  crown  of  gas-light  burns  brightly  to-night, 
— now  it  is  half  veiled  in  cloud-drapery, — now  it  is  gone.  Hurra  ! 
Again  it  blazes  forth,  and  tinges  Nelson's  Pillar  with  its  ruddy 
splendor. 

Odoherty.  By  the  powers,  North,  you  are  poetical ! 

Mr.  Tickler.  Nelson's  Pillar — ay — may  it  stand  there  for  ever ! 
Did  they  not  talk  of  pulling  it  down  for  the  Parthenon  1  We  held 
it  up.  Pull  down  a  Monument  to  the  greatest  of  British  admirals  ! 
Eie — fie. 

Mr.  Buller.  We  Englishmen  thought  the  proposal  an  odd  one. 
But  the  Pillar,  it  was  said,  was  in  bad  taste,  and  disfigured  the 
modern  Athens. 

Mr.  North.  It  is  in  bad  taste.  What  then  1  Are  Monuments  to 
the  illustrious  dead  to  lie  at  the  mercy  of  Dilletanti  1  But,  as  Mr. 
Tickler  said,  we  preserved  that  Monument. 

Mr.  Seward.  I  admire  the  Parthenon.  Most  of  you  will  recollect 
my  poem  on  that  subject.  I  am  glad  the  foundation-stone  has  been 
laid. 

Mr.  North.  So  am  I.  Let  Scotland  show  now  that  she  has 
liberality  as  well  as  taste,  and  not  suffer  the  walls  to  be  dilapidated 
by  time  before  they  have  been  raised  to  their  perfect  height. 


238  NOCTES  AMBKOSIANJS.  [Sept. 

Odoherty.  The  Parthenon  will  be  an  elegant  testimonial.  Is  it 
not,  too,  a  national  testimonial  1  Why  then  should  not  the  Scottish 
nation  pay  the  masons  ?  Why  sue  for  Parliamentary  grants  ?  Are 
you  not  "  a  nation  of  Gentlemen  f  Put  your  hands  then  into  your 
breeches-pockets,  (I  beg  your  pardon,  Chieftain),  and  pay  for  what 
you  build. 

Mr.  Tickler.  The  Standard-Bearer  speaks  nobly.  We  admire  the 
Parthenon.  We  resolve  to  build  it.  We  call  ourselves  Athenians, 
and  then  implore  Parliament  to  pay  the  piper.  Poor  devils !  we 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  ourselves. 

Mr.  Buller.  Mr.  Odoherty,  I  agree  with  you.  A  rich  nation  does 
well  to  be  magnificent.  Up  with  towers,  temples,  baths,  porticos, 
and  what  not ;  but  for  one  nation  to  build  splendid  structures,  and 
then  call  on  another  for  their  praises  and  their  purses,  is„in  my 
opinion,  not  exactly  after  the  fashion  of  the  Athenians. 

Mr.  Blackwood.  I  have  no  objection  to  publish  an  additional 
Number  any  month  in  behoof  of  the  Parthenon.  I  think  Mr. 
Linning  deserves  the  highest  praise  for  his  zeal  and  perseverance. 

Odoherty.  And  1  hope  you  will  also  publish  an  additional  Number 
the  month  following  for  behoof  of  the  Foundling  Hospital,  Dublin, 
which  is  generally  overstocked.     There  is  not  milk  for  half  the  brats. 

Mr.  JSIorth.  Shall  I  steer  under  her  stern,  or  across  her  bows  % 

Coxswain.  Under  her  great  clumsy  stern,  and  be  damned  to  her 
— Jung-frau  !  Dung-cart !  She  can't  keep  her  backside  out  of  the 
water. 

Mr.  Seward.  Whom  are  you  speaking  of  ^     Not  a  female,  I  hope. 

Odoherty.  Sir  William  Curtis's  yacht — a  female,  to  be  sure.  Look, 
you  may  read  her  name  on  her  bottom  by  moonlight. 

Mr.  Blackwood.  How  many  guns  does  she  carry  *? 

Coxswain.  Twenty  stew-pans. 

Chieftain.  Lord  bless  the  worthy  Baronet,  however  ;  he  wins  the 
hearts  of  us  Highlanders  by  mounting  a  kilt.  I  hope  he  will  wear  it 
occasionally  in  Guildhall.  I  believe  he  is  an  honorary  member  of 
the  Celtic  Society. 

Mr.  Seward.  Are  turtles  ever  caught  on  the  coast  of  Scotland  % 

Chieftain.  Occasionally — but  they  are  found  in  greatest  numbers 
in  the  inland  lochs.     They  were  originally  fresh-water  fish. 

Mr.  Seward.  You  surprise  me.  Have  these  inland  lochs  no  com- 
munication with  the  sea  1 

Chieftain.  Many  of  them  only  by  means  of  torrents  precipitous, 
several  miles  high,  and  inaccessible,  I  suspect,  to  turtles. 

Coxswain.  Old  gentleman,  helm  a-lee,  or  we  run  foul  of  that 
hawser.  Helm  a-lee,  old  gentleman,  helm  a-lee,  or  we  all  take  our 
grog  in  Davy's  locker. 

Mr.  Blackwood.  Dog  on  it,  Mr.  North,  you  would  steer,  and  you 


1822.]  CHEAP   TEAVELLING-.  239 

would  steer,  and  a  pretty  kettle  of  fish  you  are  making  of  it — I  wish 
I   were   safe   at    Newington  !*      These   boating   expeditions   never 
answer.     My  brother  Thomas  told  me  not  to  — 
Coxswain.     All's  well.     Unship  oars. 

SCENE  II.— State-cabin  Royal  Yacht. 

Mr.  North.  Admirable  simplicity  !  nothing  gorgeous  and  gaudy, — 
one  feels  at  sea  in  such  a  cabin  as  this.  The  King,  who  designed  it, 
knows  the  spirit  of  the  British  navy. 

Mr.  Tickler.  No  broad  glittering  gilding ;  there  is  no  smell  of 
gingerbread  ;  one  can  think  of  grog  and  sea-biscuit.  A  man  might 
be  sick  in  squally  weather  here,  without  fear  of  the  furniture. 

Odoherty.  Would  it  not  be  a  pretty  pastime  to  spend  a  honey- 
moon now  and  then  in  such  a  floating  heaven  as  this  1  Calm  weather 
and  a  clear  conscience,  soft  sofa,  liberty  and  love. 

Buller.  Nay,  confound  it,  the  prettiest  girl  looks  forbidding  when 
she  is  squeamish.  The  dim  orange  hue  of  sea-sickness  is  an  antidote 
to  all  foolish  fondness.     Terra  firma  for  me. 

Tickler.  Unquestionably.  I  gave  Mrs.  Tickler,  a  few  days  after 
our  union,  a  voyage  on  the  New  Canal.  The  track-boat  of  this  Cut 
was  appropriately  called  The  Lady  of  the  Lake.  We  were  hauled 
along,  at  the  rate  of  three  miles  an  hour,  by  a  couple  of  horses, 
"  lean,  and  lank,  and  brown,  as  is  the  ribbed  sea-sand."  Yet,  even 
then,  Mrs.  Tickler  felt  queer,  and  we  had  to  disembarge  before 
changing  cattle. 

The  Adjutant.  One  may  travel  now  for  twenty  pounds  all  over 
Great  Britain.  Go  it  toe  and  heel  in  cool  weather — take  a  lift  occa- 
sionally in  cart,  buggy,  or  shandrydan,  by  the  side  of  a  fat  farmer — 
tip  the  guard  of  Heavies  a  sly  wink,  and  get  up  behind  in  the  basket, 
thirty  miles  for  a  couple  of  shillings  ;  now  for  a  cheap  circuitous  cut 
by  a  canal,  when  you  live  cheap  with  the  chaw-bacons,  and,  see  a  fine 
flat  country — into  a  steamboat  before  the  mast,  and  smoke  it  away 
fifty  leagues  for  six  and  eight  pence — da  capo — and  in  about  six  weeks 
you  return  to  your  wife  and  family,  with  a  perfect  geographical 
and  hydrographical  knowledge  of  this  Island,  and  with  a  five  pound 
note,  out  of  the  twenty,  for  a  nest-egg. 

Mr.  Blackwood.  That  looks  all  very  well  upon  paper. 

Odoherty.  On  paper,  Mr.  Blackwood ! 

Mr.  Blackwood.  I  say  it  is  a  mere  theory,  and  cannot  be  reduced 
to  practice.  I  cannot  go  to  London,  to  stay  a  fortnight,  see  my 
friends,  and  return  under  fifty  guineas. 

,  Odoherty.  But  then  you  indulge  in  luxuries,  extraneous  expenses 
' — works  of  supererogation. 

*  Blackwood's  country  residence  was  at  Newington,  near  Edinburgh. — ^IVT. 


240  KOCTES  AMBROSIAN^.  [Sept. 

Mr.  Blackwood.  Not  at  all,  Adjutant.  To  be  sure  hunting  costs  a 
good  deal. 

Buller.  Hunting !  Are  you  a  sportsman  ?  Do  you  join  the 
Surrey  1  and  conspire  with  your  friend,  Leigh  Hunt,  to  worry  hares 
in  the  dog-days  ? 

Mr.  Blackwood.  No,  no.  It  is  hunting  contributors.  For  example, 
I  hear  of  a  clever  young  man  having  beeii  at  a  tea-and-turn-out  in  the 
city.  I  lay  on  a  few  idle  dogs  to  scent  him  out — I  trace  him  to 
Temple  Bar — there  he  is  lost,  and  the  chase  may  be  repeated  for 
several  days  before  we  secure  him.  Then  I  have  to  dinner  him 
divers  times,  and,  before  leaving  town,  to  advance  money  on  his 
articles.  Perhaps  I  never  hear  more  of  him,  till  I  read  the  identical 
article,  promised  and  paid  for,  in  the  London  or  New  Monthly. 

Odoherty.  There  is  a  melancholy  want  of  principle,  indeed,  among 
literary  men.  Nobody  will  accuse  me  of  being  straight-laced  ;  but 
while  the  love-fit  lasts,  I  am  true  as  steel  to  one  mistress  and  to  one 
Magazine.  I  look  upon  an  attachment  to  either,  quite  as  an  affair  of  the 
heart.  When  mutually  tired  of  each  other,  then  part  with  a  kiss,  a 
squeeze  of  the  hand,  a  courtesy,  and  a  bow.  But  no  infidelity  during 
the  attachment.  What  sort  of  a  heart  can  that  man  have,  while  he  is 
openly  living  with  the  New  Monthly,  insidiously  pays  his  addresses 
to  the  modest  and  too  unsuspecting  Maga  %  It  is  a  shocking  system 
of  promiscuous  Cockney  concubinage,  that  must  at  no  distant  period 
vitiate,  the  taste,  harden  the  sensibility,  vulgarize  the  manners,  and 
deprave  the  morals  of  the  people  of  Great  Britain.  It  ought  to  be 
put  down. 

Buller.  Do  you  seriously  opine,  Mr.  North,  that  much  money  is 
made  by  periodical  literature  in  London  1 

Mr.  North.  Assuredly  not.  There  is  little  available  talent  there. 
The  really  good  men  are  all  over  head  and  ears  in  wigs  and  work. 
There  do  not  seem  to  be  above  a  dozen  idlers  in  all  London  who  can 
get  up  a  decent  article ;  these  are  all  known,  and  their  intellects  are 
measured  as  exactly  as  their  bodies  by  a  tailor  ; — each  man  has  his 
measure  lying  at  Colburn's,  &;c.,  and  is  paid  accordingly.  When  a 
spare  young  man  quarrels  with  one  employer,  he  attempts  another ; 
but  his  wares  are  known  in  the  market,  and  "  he  drags  at  each 
remove  a  heavier  chain." 

Odoherty.  The  contributors  are  all  as  well  known  as  the  pugilists 
— height,  weight,  length,  bottom,  and  science.  Mr.  F.  can  hit  hard, 
but  is  a  cur,  like  Jack  the  butcher.  Mr.  R.  can  spar  prettily,  like 
Williams  the  swell,  with  the  gloves,  but  can  neither  give  nor  take 
with  the  naked  mauleys.     Mr.  T.  is  like  the  Birmingham  Youth,  and 

"  falls  off  unaccountably."     And  Mr. is  a  palpaple  cross — fights 

booty,  and  it  ends  in  a  wrangle  or  a  draw. 

Mr.  Blackwood.  Dog  on  it,  Adjutant,  why  don't  you  give  us  some 
more  Boxiana  articles  % 


1822.]  BOXIANA.  241 

Odoherty.  I  do  not  wish  to  interfere  with  old in  the  "  Fancy 

Gazette."  He  is  a  rum  one  to  go — a  most  pawky  and  prophetic 
pugilist.  He  knows  the  whole  business  of  the  ring  better  than  any 
man  alive,  and  writes  scholastically  and  like  a  gemman  ;  but  he  was 
rather  out  there  about  Barlow  and  Josh.  Hudson.  Ebony,  you 
should  exchange  Magazines.  The  prime  object  of  the  "  Fancy 
Gazette"  is  to  kick  curs  and  crosses  out  of  the  ring.*  It  is  full  of 
the  true  English  spirit.  Why,  I  gave  a  few  numbers  of  it  to  my 
friend  the  Rev.  Dr.  Wodrow,  who  was  once,  as  you  know,  Moderator 
of  the  General  Assembly  of  the  Kirk  of  Scotland,  and  nothing  would 
satisfy  the  old  divine  but  a  couple  of  pairs  of  glove's.  I  sent  them 
out  from  Christie's ;  and  on  my  next  visit,  there  were  he  and  Saun- 
ders Howie,  one  of  the  elders,  ruffianing  it  away  like  old  Tom  Owens 
and  Mendoza,  "  That's  a  chatterer,"  quoth  the  elder,  as  I  entered 
the  study,  he  having  hit  Wodrow  on  his  box  of  ivories.  "  There's  a 
floorer,"  responded  the  ex-Moderator,  and  straightway  the  Covenanter 
was  on  the  carpet. 

Chieftain,  Is  not  this  a  somewhat  singular  conversation  for  the 
state-cabin  of  our  most  gracious  Sovereign's  yacht  1 

Odokerty.  Not  at  all.  I  saw  Randal  welt  Macarthy  in  a  room 
about  this  size,  and  Jack  Scroggins  serve  out  Holt  —  . 

Mr.  Seward.  Where  is  North  ?  I  hope  he  has  not  leapt  out  of  the 
cabin  window. 

Omnes,  (riding  from  the  King's  sofa.)  North — North — Editor — 
Christopher — Kit, — where  the  devil  are  you  1 

Mr.  Norths  [from  ivithin  his  Majesty^ s  bed-room.)  Come  hither, 
my  dear  boys,  and  behold  your  father  reposing  on  the  bed  of  royalty ! 
{Tliey  all  rush  in.) 

Buller.  Behold  him  lying  alive  in  state  !  Let  us  kneel  down  by 
the  bed-side.     {They  all  kneel  down.) 

Oinnes.  Hail,  King  of  Editors !  Long  mayest  thou  reign  over 
us,  thy  faithful  subjects.     Salve,  Pater  I 

Mr.  North.  Oh !  my  children,  little  do  you  know  what  a  weary 
weight  is  in  a  crown  !  Alas,  for  us  Monarchs  !  Oh  !  that  I  could 
fall  asleep,  and  never  more  awake  !     Posterity  will  do  me  justice. 

Mr.  Blackwood,  {in  tears.)  Oh!  my  good  sir — my  good  sir — it  is 
quite  a  mistake,  I  assure  you — every  living  soul  loves  and  admires 
you.     You  must  not   talk   of  dying,  sir — {handing  over  the  gem\  to 

*  At  this  time,  Mr.  George  Kent  was  editor  of  The  Fancy  Gazette.  I  mention  (for  the  infor- 
mation of  the  ladies,)  that  '■  The  Fancy"  included  not  only  sporting  men,  but  was  understood 
sometimes  to  take  in  the  members  of  the  swell  mob. — M. 

t  Tke  Gem.  The  Chaldee  manuscript  (chap.  1,  v.  34)  had  thus  described  Blackwood's  snuff- 
box ;— "  And  he  took  from  under  his  girdle  a  gem  of  curious  workmanship  of  silver,  made  by 
the  hand  of  a  cunning  artificer,  and  overlaid  within  with  pure  gold;  and  he  took  from 
thence  something  in  color  like  unto  the  dust  of  the  earth,  or  the  ashes  that  remain  of  a  furnace 
and  he  snuffed  it  up  like  the  east  wind,  and  returned  the  gem  again  into  its  place." — M. 
VOL.  I.  11 


24:2  NOCTES   AMBEOSIAN^.  [Sept. 

Mr.  NortK) — The  world  can  ill  spare  you  at  this  crisis.  Here  is 
Canning,  Secretary  of  State  for  Foreign  Affairs.*  With  yourself, 
in  the  Home  Department,  things  will  go  on  gloriously ;  and  I  calcu- 
late on  1000  additional  subscribers  to  our  next  Number. 

Odoherty.  Let  me  smooth  this  pillow. 

Mr.  North.  How  many  of  my  poorest  subjects  are  now  asleep. 

Chieftain,  {aside  to  Mr.  Tickler.)  Is  he  subject  to  moody  fits  of 
this  kind  %     Is  he  liable  to  the  blue  devils  ? 

Mr.  Tickler.  Only  to  printers'  devils,  Chieftain ;  but  let  him  alone 
for  a  few  minutes.  Strong  imagination  is  working  within  him,  as  he 
lies  on  the  King's  couch.  See,  he  is  recovering — what  a  gray  pierc- 
ing eye  the  old  cock  turns  up  !     He  is  game  to  the  back-bone. 

Mr.  North.  Would  I  had  a  bowl  of  punch-royal ! 

Young  Midshijoman.  That  you  shall  have,  Mr.  North,  in  the 
twinkling  of  a  bed-post.  We  drink  nothing  else  on  board,  on  a  trip 
of  this  kind.  Hollo,  Jenkins,  bring  the  crater.  [Enter  Jenkins  with 
punch  royal.)     We  call  this  the  crater. 

Mr.  North  [drinks.)  Punch-royal  indeed  ! 

Odoherty.  Fair  play  is  a  jewel,  North.  Leave  a  cheerer  to  the 
Chieftain. 

Mr.  North,  [rising.)  Gentlemen,  let  us  re-embark.  My  soul  is 
full. — Adjutant,  lend  me  your  arm  up  the  gangway.  Kings  lie  on 
down — but,  oh,  oh,  oh!     [Striking  his  forehead.) 

Mr.  Blackivood.  This  will  end  in  an  article. 

SCENE  m.— The  Deck  of  Mr.  Smith's  Cutter,  the  Orion. 

Chieftain.  Bargemen,  there  are  five  guineas  for  you  to  drink  the 
King's  health,  from  Mr.  North  and  his  friends. 

Bargemen.  Kit  and  the  King  !     Huzza — North  for  ever  ! 

3£r.  Seward.  Let  us  beat  up  the  Frith ;  the  breeze  is  freshening. 
I  only  wish  the  worthy  Commander  had  been  on  board.  He  can  lay 
a  bowsprit  in  the  wind's  eye  with  any  man  that  ever  touched  a  tiller. 

Odoherty.  Where  the  devil  is  the  moon  1  Well  tumbled  porpus. 
A  sea-mew — lend  me  a  musket.  There,  madam,  some  pepper  for 
your  tail — roundabouts  like  a  whirligig — up  like  an  arrow — and  then 
off  "  right  slick  away,"  and  down  upon  the  billow,  safe  and  sound,  as 
dapper  as  a  daisy.  I  always  miss,  except  with  single  ball.  I  recol- 
lect killing  Corney  Maguire  at  the  first  fire,  like  winking,  and  hardly 
ever  an  aim  at  all  at  all. 

Mr.  Buller.  She  will  lie  nearer  the  wind,  Seward, — thereabouts — 
thereabouts — her  mainsail  has  the  true  Ramsey  cut.  She  looks  quite 
snakish. 

Odoherty.  Put  her  about.      The  breeze  is  snoring  from  the  king- 

*  Canning,  on  the  eve  of  embarking  to  fill  the  office  of  Governor-General  of  India,  was 
appointed  to  succeed  Lord  I-ondonderry,  as  Foreign  Secretary. — M. 


1822.]  NAPOLEON.  243 

dom  of  Fife.  See  now,  Seward,  that  you  don't  let  her  miss  stays. 
She  goes  round  withm  her  own  length  as  on  a  pivot.  Well  done, 
Orion  ! 

Mr.  Tickler.  I  vote  we  set  off  for  the  Western  Isles. 

Odolierty.  I  have  too  much  regard  for  Mrs.  Tickler  to  allow  her 
husband  to  leave  her  in  her  present  interesting  situation.  Besides,  it 
would  not  be  civil  to  the  absent  commander  of  the  cutter,  to  over- 
power the  crew,  and  carry  her  off,  like  pirates. 

Mr.  Seward.  Demme — there's  a  schooner,  about  our  own  tonnage, 
beating  up  in  ballast  to  Alloa  for  table  beer — let  us  race  her.  I  will 
lay  the  Orion  on  her  quarter.  There,  lads — all  tight — ^now  she  feels 
it — gunwale  in — grand  bearings — I  could  steer  her  with  my  little 
finger.     We  are  eating  him  out  of  the  wind. 

Odoherty^  {through  his  hands  as  a  speaking  trumpet.)  Whither 
bound  1 — What  cargo  1 — Timber  and  fruit,  staves  and  potatoes  1 
Son  of  a  sea-cow,  you  are  drifting  to  leeward. 

Mr.  North.  I  have  been  glancing  over  O'Meara.  Bonaparte's 
tone,  when  speaking  of  the  intended  invasion  of  this  country,  did 
not  a  little  amuse  me.  He  laid  his  account  with  conquering  Great 
Britain.* 

Mr.  BuUer.  Great  insolence.  Did  his  troops  conquer  divided  and 
degenerate  Spain  *?  The  British  nation  would  have  trampled  him 
under  foot.  O'Meara  records  his  ravings,  as  if  he  went  along  with 
them.  I  hate  the  French  for  snivelling  so  through  their  noses.  No 
nasal  nation  could  conquer  a  great  guttural  people. 

Mr.  North.  Good.  It  is  quite  laughable  to  hear  him  telling  the 
surgeon  what  he  intended  to  have  done  with  the  Bank  of  England, 
and  what  sort  of  a  constitution  he  had  cut  and  dried  for  us.f 

Odoherty.  Bonaparte  says  sneeringly,  that  Wellington  could  not 
have  left  the  field  of  battle,  if  he  had  been  defeated  at  Waterloo. 
Does  he  mean,  that'  his  position  was  a  bad  one,  in  case  of  retreat  ? 
I  ask,  was  his  own  a  good  one  1  Was  not  his  army  cut  to  pieces  as 
it  fled  1 

Mr.  Tickler.  Odoherty,  did  you  read  t'other  day,  in  the  newspa- 
pers, of  a  Liverpool  barber,  shaving  eighty  chins,  in  a  workmanlike 
style,  within  the  hour  1 

Odoherty.  I  did ;  but  a  Manchester  shaver  has  since  done  a 
hundred. 

Mr.  Tickler.  It  must  have  been  a  serious  .affair  for  the  last  score 
of  shavees.  When  the  betting  became  loud,  6  to  4  on  time,  I  am 
surprised  the  barber  got  his  patients  to  sit. 

*  Napoleon's  own  statements  on  this  head  (they  are  too  lengthy  to  be  quoted  here,)  will  be 
found  in  volume  I.,  p.  2J5,  and  volume  II.,  p.  2-i3,  of  O'Meara's  "  Voice  from  St.  Helena." — M. 

t  He  intended  proclaiming  a  republic,  abolishing  the  peerage,  setting  Burdett  to  re-model  the 
constitution,  and  dividing  the  property  of  the  nobility  among  the  partisans  of  this  new  revo- 
lution.— M. 


244  NOCTES  AMBROSIAK^.  [Sept 

Mr.  JSforth.  Was  he  allowed  to  draw  blood  ? 

Odoherty.  Only  from  pimples.  I  like  these  sort  of  bets.  They 
encourage  the  useful  arts.  I  won  a  cool  hundred  last  winter,  as  you 
may  have  heard,  by  eating  a  thousand  eggs  in  a  thousand  hours. 

Mr.  Tickler.  Hard  or  soft  % 

Odoherty.  Both — raw,  roasted,  and  poached.  It  was  a  sickening 
business.     I  ate  a  few  rotten  ones,  for  the  sake  of  variety.   ' 

Chieftain.  One  of  my  Tail  drank  a  thousand  glasses  of  whisky  in 
a  thousjand  hours  ;  and  we  had  great  difficulty  in  keeping  him  to  a 
single  glass  an  hour.     He  did  it  without  turning  a  hair. 

Mr.  JSforth.  Suppose  we  take  a  look  at  the  Dollar  Academy  1 

Mr.  Tickler.  Tennant's  in  town ;  he  dined  with  me  last  week. 
I  have  a  copy  of  Anster  Fair  in  my  pocket.  I  took  it  to  Holland 
with  me  on  my  last  trip,  and  read  it  in  the  Zuyder  Zee.  It  is  a 
fine  thing.  North,  full  of  life,  and  glee,  and  glamour.*  So  is  Don 
Juan. 

Mr.  North.  I  shall  not  permit  any  more  poetry  to  be  published 
before  the  year  1830,  except  by  fresh  ones.  The  known  hands  are 
all  stale.  Poetry  is  the  language  of  passion.  But  no  strong  deep 
passion  is  in  the  mind  of  the  age.  If  it  be,  where  ?  Henceforth  I 
patronize  prose. 

Mr.  Tickler.  So  does  Mr.  Blackwood.  Confound  him,  he  is  inun- 
dating the  public.     I  wish  to  God  Gait  was  dead ! 

Mr.  Blackwood.  You  are  so  fond  of  saying  strong  things.  Gra- 
cious me  !  before  he  has  finished  the  Lairds  of  Grippy  ^f 

Mr.  Tickler.  Well,  well,  let  him  live  till  then,  and  then  die. 
Yet  better  is  a  soil,  like  that  of  Scotland,  that  produces  a  good, 
strong,  rough,  coarse  crop,  than  the  meagre  and  mangy  barrenness 
of  England. 

Mr.  Seward.  Buller,  take  the  helm.  The  meagre  and  mangy  bar- 
renness of  England  !  Do  you  speak,  sir,  of  the  soil  or  soul  of  Eng- 
land %  You  Scotch  do  wonders  both  in  agriculture  and  education ; 
but  you  cannot  contend  against  climate. 

Mr.  Norilu  Come,  come — you  don't  thoroughly  understand  Tick- 
ler yet.  But  the  moon  is  sunk,  the  stars  are  paling  their  ineffectual 
fires, — and  what  is  worse,  the  tide  is  ebbing.  So  let  us  put  about, 
and  back  to  the  Chain  Pier.  Or  shall  we  make  a  descent  on  the 
coast?     See,  we  are  off'Hopetoun  House.J 

Odoherty.  Hark  !  the  sound  of  the  fiddle  from  that  snug  farm- 

*  In  1810,  William  Tennant,  author  of  "Anster  Fair,"  and  other  poems,  was  elected  classical 
teacher  of  the  academy  at  Dollar,  in  Fifeshire.  In  1837,  he  was  made  Professor  of  Oriental 
Languages  in  the  University  of  St.  Andrews.     He  died  in  1843.— M. 

t  The  Entail,  or  the  Lairds  of  Grippy,  one  of  John  Gait's  best  novels,  was  in  the  press  at  this 
time. — M. 

X  Hopetoun  House,  in  Linlithgow-shire,  was  the  seat  of  the  gallant  Earl  of  Hopetoun, 
with  whom  George  IV.  breakfasted  on  the  morning  of  his  leaving  Scotland.  , 


1822.] 


THE   DANCE.  245 


house  amidst  a  grove  of  trees  !     Pity  they  should  be  Scotch  firs, — a 
damnable  tree,  and  a  grove  of  them  is  too  bad.     Let  us  land. 

Boatswain,  The  water  is  deep  close  to  the  water's  edge.  Down 
helm,  master.     There,  her  gunwale  is  on  the  granite  ! 

(Mr.  North  leaps  out,  followed  by  the  Standard  Bearer,  Chief- 
tain, <&c.  ;  and  the  Orion,  her  sails  soon  filling,  wears,  and 
goes  down  the  Frith,  goose-winged,  before  the  wind. 

END     OF    ACT     SECOND. 

ACT  III. 

SCENE  I. — Kitchen  of  the  Farm-house  of  Girnaway,     Gudeman  in 

his    arm-chair,   by    the  ingle — Mr.   North    on  his    right  hand — 

Gudewife   in  her  arm-chair,   opposite — Odoherty  07i  her  right — 

Lads  and  lasses  all  around. 

Heel  of  Tullochgorum. 

Gudeman.  Ma  faith,  but  the  Highlander  handles  his  heels  well. 
You  were  saying  he  is  a  Chieftain — Has  he  his  tail  in  the  town  wi' 
himl 

Mr.  North.  He  has  a  tail  twenty  gentlemen  long.* 

Gudeman.  I'm  thinkin'  it  wad  be  nae  jeest  to  cast  saut  on  his  tail. 
He's  a  proud,  fierce-lookin'  fallow.  He's  bringing  the  red  into  Meg's 
face  yonner,  with  his  kilt  flaif  flaffing  afore  her,  wi'  that  great  rough 
pouch.  Hear  till  him,  hoo  he's  snappin'  his  fingers,  and  crying  out, 
just  wi'  perfect  wudness.  The  fiver  o'  his  young  Hieland  bluid 
wunna  let  him  rest.  Safe  us  !  look  at  him  whirling  Meg  about  like 
a  tee-totum. 

Gudewife.  Gudeman,  this  gentleman  here,  he  is  an  Irisher,  is  prig- 
gin  on  me  to  tak  the  floor.     I  fin'  as  gin  I  couldna  refuse. 

Gudeman.  Do  as  thou  likes,  Tibbie,  thou'rt  auld  enough  to  take 
care  o'  thyself. 

Mr.  Blackwood,  (to  a  pretty  young  Girl  in  a  white  gown  and  pink 
ribbons.)  My  dear,  it's  to  be  a  foursome  reel.  May  I  have  the 
pleasure  of  standing  before  you  ?  Fiddlers,  play  "  I'll  gang  nae  mair 
to  yon  town," — it's  the  King's  favorite. 

Chieftain,  [to  his  Partner,  after  a  kiss.)  Let  me  hand  you  to  the 
dresser. 

Meg.  I'm  a'  in  a  drench  o'  sweat,  see  it's  just  pooran  down.  My 
sark's  as  wat's  muck. 

Chieftain.  You  had  better  step  out  to  the  door  for  a  few  minutes, 
and  take  the  benefit  of  the  fresh  air. 

Meg.  Wi'  a'  my  heart,  sir.  {Exeunt  Chieftain  and  Meg.) 

Odoherty.  Madam,  you  cannot  go  wrong,  it  is  just  the  eight 
figure — so — 8.     Jig,  or  common  time  1 

*  The  personal  importance  of  a  Scottish  Chieftain  was  estimated  by  his  Tail,  or  number  of 
immediate  followers.— M. 


246  N0CTE8   AMBEOSIAN^.  [Sept. 

Gudewife.  Oh  !  Jig — jig. 

A  Foursome  Reel  by  the  Standard-hearer^  the   Gude- 
wife^ Mr.  Blackwood^  and  Maiden.) 

Gudeman.  Mr.  North,  you  hae  brocht  a  band  o'  rare  swankies  wi' 
you.     I'm  thinking  you're  no  sae  auld's  you  look  like. 

Mr.  North.  I'm  quite  a  young  man,  just  the  age  of  the  King,*  God 
bless  him.     I  hope  we'll  both  live  thirty  years  yet. 

Mr.  Tickler.,  {to  Mr.  North.)  Look  how  busy  BuUer  is  yonder  in 
the  corner,  at  the  end  of  the  kitchen  dresser. 

Mr.  North.  Laird,  the  gudewife  foots  it  away  with  admirable 
agility.     I  never  saw  a  reel  better  danced  in  my  life. 

Gudeman.  She's  a  gay,  canny  body  ;  see  hoo  the  jade  puts  her  twa 
neives  to  the  sides  o'her,  and  hands  up  her  chin  wi'  a  prie-my-mou 
sort  o'  a  cock.  Tibby,  ye  jade,  the  ee  o'  your  auld  gudeman's  on 
you.  What  ca'  ye  that  lang  land-louper  that's  wallopping  afore  her  1 
said  you,  the  Stawner-bearer  1  Is  he  a  FJag-Staff  Lieutenant  on  half 
pay  ? 

Mr.  Tickler.  Fiddler,  my  boy,  you  with  that  infernal  squint,  I 
beg  your  pardon,  with  the  slight  cast  of  your  eye,  will  you  lend  me 
your  fiddle  for  a  few  seconds  ? 

[Takes  the  Jiddle  and  plays  with  prodigious  birr.) 

Gudewife.  Stap  him — stap  him,  that's  no  the  same  tune.  I  canna 
keep  the  step.  That's  Maggy  Lauder  he's  strumming  at ;  they're 
playing  different  tunes.  [Dance  is  stopped.) 

Mr.  Blackwood.  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Tickler ;  but  you  have 
put  us  all  out ;  I  was  just  beginning  to  get  into  the  way  of  it. 

Mr.  Tickler.  Come,  I  volunteer  a  solo.     The  Bush  aboon  Traquair. 

{Plays.) 

Odoherty.     The  Hen's  March,  by  jingo. 

One  Fiddler,  {to  another.)  He  fingers  bonny,  bonny,  but  he  has  a 
cramp  bow-hand.  He's  shouther-bun'.  I  like  to  see  the  bow  gaun 
like  a  flail  back  and  forward. 

Gudewife.  Mr.  Odoherty,  sit  down  aside  me  again,  and  let's  hear 
something  about  the  King. 

Odoherty.  Mrs.  Girnaway,  you  are  quite  a  woman  to  please  the 
King — fat,  fair,  and  forty.  And  I  assure  you  that  the  King  is  quite 
a  man  to  please  any  woman.  The  expression  of  the  under  part  of 
his  face  is  particularly  pleasing ;  his  mouth,  madam,  is  not  unlike 
your  own,  especially  when  you  both  smile. 

Gudewife.  Do  you  hear  that,  gudeman?  Mr.  Odocterme  says, 
that  I  am  like  the  King  about  the  mouth,  when  I  smile. 

Gudeman.  When  you  smile,  gudewife  %  Whan's  that  %  Your 
mouth,  ony  time  I  see't,  is  either  wide  open,  wi'  a'  its  buck-teeth  in 
a  guffaw,  or  as  fast  as  a  vice,  in  a  dour  fit  of  the  sourocks. 

•  Rather  an  error.  According  to  North's  own  showing,  subsequently,  he  was  many  years 
older  than  George  IV,,  who  was  sixty  in  August,  1822. — M. 


1822.]  NATIONAL   PE08PERITY.  247 

Mr.  North.  May  I  ask,  sir,  who  is  that  maiden  with  the  silken 
snood,  whose  conversation  is  now  enjoyed  by  my  young  Friend,  Mr. 
Buller  of  Brazen-nose  ? 

Gudeman.  That's  our  auldest  dochter,  Girzzy  Girnaway  ;  she'll  be 
out  o'  her  teens  by  Halloween ;  and  she's  as  gude's  she's  bonny, 
sir, — she  never  gied  her  parents  an  ill  word,  nor  a  sair  heart. 

Mr.  North.  The  dancing  is  kept  up  with  wonderful  spirit,  and  you 
and  I  now  have  all  the  conversation  to  ourselves.  A  country-dance, 
I  declare !  See,  the  gudewife,  sir,  is  coming  over  to  join  us.  We 
shall  just  have  a  three-handed  crack. 

Gudewife.  Ae  reel's  eneugh  for  me.  My  daft  days  are  ower ;  but 
I  couldna  thole  his  fleeching — that  ane  you  ca'  the  Adjutant.  Look 
at  yon  lang  deevil  how  he  is  gaun  down  the  middle  wi'  Mysie  below 
his  oxter.  Ca'  ye  him  Tickler  1  Hech,  sirs,  but  he's  well  named. 
He's  kittlin  her  a'  the  way  down. 

Mr.'  North.  There  is  much  happiness,  Lair^,  now  before  us.  My 
heart  enjoys  their  homely  hilarity.  We  must  take  human  life  as  we 
find  it. 

Gudeman.  What  for  did  ye  say  that  Mr.  Buller  had  a  brazen 
nose  %  I  think  him  a  very  douce,  quate,  blate  callan,  an'  less  o'  the 
brass  nose  than  ony  single  ane  o'  your  forbears. 

Mr.  North.  He  belongs  to  an  English  college  called  Brazen-nose. 

Gudeman.  Na,  na,  Mr.  North,  that'll  no  gang  down  with  Gibby 
Girnaway.     An  English  college  called  Brazen -nose  !     Na,  na. 

Gudewife.  He's  gane  fain  on  our  Girzzy.  But  he  can  mean  nae 
ill.  He  wadna  be  a  man,  to  come  down  frae  England  and  say  aught 
amiss  to  our  bairn.  Oh !  Gibby,  but  he's  a  neat  dancer,  and  has 
sma'  sma'  ankles,  but  gude  strong  calves.  I  thocht  the  English  had 
been  a'  wee  bit  fat  bodies.  Aiblins  his  mither  may  hae  been  frae 
Scotland. 

Mr.  North.  Laird  Girnaway,  I  fear  the  times  are  extremely  bad. 

Gudeman.  They  are  so.  But  if  the  landlords  will  let  down  their 
rents,  and  indeed  they  must,  and  if  the  crops  are  as  good  next  year 
as  they  are  this,  and  if,  and  if,  and  if — then,  Mr.  North,  I  say  the 
times  will  not  be  bad.  They  will  be  better  for  poor  people  than  I 
ever  remember  them.     And  let  rich  people  take  care  of  themselves. 

Mr.  North.  Can  the  landlords  afford  to  do  so  %  Will  it  not  ruin 
them? 

Gudeman.  I  cannot  tell  what  they  can  afford,  or  wha  may  be 
ruined.  But  what  I  say  must  happen ;  and  the  warld  will  not  be 
warse  off  than  before.  They  must  draw  less,  and  spend  less.  That's 
the  hail  affair. 

Gudewife.  I'm  a  wee  dull  o'  hearing,  and  thae  fiddles  mak  sic  a 
din — and  there  is  sic  a  hirdum  dirdum  on  the  floor,  1  canna  hear 
either  my  gudeman  or  you,  sir.  But  I'm  awa'  into  the  spence  to 
mak  some  plotty,  and  baste  the  guse.  \Exit. 


248  NOCTES  AMBEOSIANJE.  [Sept. 

Mr.  North.  It  does  my  heart  good  to  see  such  a  scene  as  this.  I 
hope  our  dancers  are  all  loyal  subjects.  Or  do  they  care  nothing 
about  their  King  ? 

Gudeman.  I  daresay,  sir,  not  ane  o'  them  is  thinking  o'  his  Majesty 
at  this  minute.  But  why  should  they  1  a  time  for  a'  things.  But 
they've  been  maist  o'  them  in  to  Embro'  to  hae  a  keek  o'  him. 
There's  no  chiel  on  the  floor  that  wadna  fecht  for  the  King  till  his 
heart's  blood  flooded  the  grass  aneath  his  tottering  feet. 

Mr.  North.  Have  you  any  sons,  Mr.  Girnaway  1 

Gudeman.  Twa — that's  ane  o'  them,  the  big  chiel  wi'  the  curly 
pow  clapping  his  hauns,  and  the  ither  is  a  schoolmaster  in  Ayrshire 
— a  douce  laddie,  that  may  ae  day  be  a  minister.  Davie  there  is  a 
yeoman,  and  a  fearfu'  fallow  with  the  sword.  And  then  he  wad  ride 
the  Deevil  himsel'. 

Mr.  North.  Have  you  yourself  seen  his  Majesty,  Mr.  Girnaway  ? 

Gudeman.  Not  yet :  but  I  will  see  him,  God  willing,  when  h^ 
takes  his  leave  o'  his  ain  Scotland,  frae  Hopetoun  House.  The  auld 
royal  bluid  o'  Scotland,  I  ken,  is  in  his  veins  ;  and  there  is  some- 
thing, sir,  in  the  thocht  o'  far-back  times  that's  grand  and  fearsome, 
and  suits  the  head  o'  a  crowned  Monarch.  The  folk  in  this  parish 
dinna  respeck  me  the  less,  that  I  am  ane  o'  the  Girnaways,  whose 
family  has  lived  here  for  generations  and  generations  ;  and  it  maun 
be  just  the  same  wi'  a  King,  whose  ancestors  hae  lang  ruled  the  land. 
If  we  hae  a  feeling  o'  sic  a  thnig,  sae  maun  he :  and  Davie  said,  "O, 
father,  but  he  was  a  proud  man  when  he  looked  up  to  the  Calton, 
and  doun  on  auld  Holyrood.     I  couldna  help  greeting." 

Mr.  North.  I  trust,  Mr.  Girnaway,  that  your  enlightened  senti- 
ments are  general. 

Gudeman.  Wha  doubts  't  1  Now  and  then,  ye  hear  a  dauner'd 
body  telling  ye  that  the  King  is  just  like  ither  men  ;  and  that  Kings 
care  naething  for  puir  people ;  and  that  the  twa  Houses  o'  Parlia- 
ment should  baud  him  in  wi'  baith  snaffle  and  curb ;  but  that  doc- 
trine doesna  gang  doun  just  the  now  ;  and  the  very  women-folk,  who, 
in  a  general  way  are  rather  sillyish,  you  ken,  laugh  at  it,  and  praise 
the  King  up  to  the  very  ee-brees.* 

Mr.  North.  Never  beheld  I  so  much  mirth,  happiness,  and  inno- 
cence. I  have  often  thought,  Mr.  Girnaway,  of  becoming  a  farmer 
in  the  evening  of  life. 

Gudeman.  There's  mirth  eneugh  and  happiness  eneugh,  and,  as  the 
world  goes,  innocence  eneugh,  too,  on  the  floor,  Mr.  North.  But  you 
maunna  deceive  yoursel'  wi'  fine  words.  Mirth  isna  for  every  day 
in  the  year  ;  and  we  are  often  a'  sulky  and  dour,  and  at  times  raging 
like  tigers.  Happiness  is  a  kittle  verb  to  conjugate,  as  our  dominie 
says  \  and  as  to  innocence,  while  lads  and  lasses  are  lads  and  lasses, 

•  Ee-brtes, — eyebrows. — M. 


1822.]  ]SrORTH  TINTEILED.  249 

there'll  be  baith  sin  and  sorrow.  But  there's  ae  thing,  sir,  keepit 
sacred  amang  us,  and  that  is  religion,  Mr.  North.  We  attend  the 
kirk  and  read  the  Bible. 

Mr.  North.  I  hope,  Mr.  Girnaway,  that  when  you  come  to  Edin- 
burgh, you  will  take  potluck  with  me. 

Gudeman.  Dinna  Mr.  me  ony  mair,  sir ;  call  me  just  Girnaway. 
I'll  do't.  Now,  sir,  may  I  ask,  cannily,  what  trade  ye  may  be  when 
you  are  at  hame  % 

Mr.  North.  I  am  Editor  of  Blackwood's  Magazine,  of  which  you 
may  have  heard. 

Gudeman.  Gude  safe  us  !  are  you  a  loupin',  livin',  flesh  and  bluid 
man,  with  real  rudiments  and  a  wooden  crutch,  just  as  gien  out  in 
that  ance-a-month  peerioddical  1  Whan  will  wonders  cease  %  Gies 
your  haun.  Come  awa'  into  the  spence  ;  the  wife  maun  hae  made 
the  plotty  by  this  time.  Come  into  the  spence.  Come  awa — come 
away.     This  is  maist  as  gude's  a  visit  frae  the  King  himsel. 

{^Exeunt  North  and  Girnaway  into  the  Spence. 

SCENE  II.— The  Spence. 

Gudewife  {sola.)  It's  no  every  ane  can  set  down  a  bit  supper  like 
Tibbie  Girnaway.  Had  that  guse  been  langer  on  the  stubble,  he 
might  hae  been  a  hantle  fatter  about  the  doup.  But  he'll  do  as  he 
is,  wi'  the  apple  sauce. 

£^nter  Girnaway  and  North. 

Girnaway.  Gudewife,  you  ken  that  buik  our  son  sends  us  every 
month,  wi'  the  face  of  Geordie  Buchanan  on't.  Would  ye  believe 
that  we  hae  under  our  roof  tree  the  very  lads  that  write  it.  Here's 
the  cock  o'  the  company,  Mr.  North  himself. 

Gudewife.  1  jaloused  something  wonderfu',  whene'er  I  saw  the  face 
of  him,  and  that  Adjutant  ane,  Siccan  a  buik  I  never  read  afore. 
It  gars  ane  laugh  they  canna  tell  how ;  and  a'  the  time  ye  ken  what 
ye'r  reading,  is  serious,  too — Naething  ill  in't,  but  a'  gude — support- 
ing the  kintra,  and  the  King,  and  the  kirk. 

Girnaway.  Mr.  North,  I  hae  not  much  time  to  read,  but  I  like  fine 
to  put  my  specs  on  to  a  sensible  or  droll  buik,  and  your  Magazine  is 
baith.     I'm  a  friend  to  general  education. 

Mr.  North.  Girnaway,  do  you  think  that  there  are  many  profane 
or  seditious  books  hawked  about  the  country  ?  It  seems  to  be  the 
opinion  of  the  General  Assembly. 

Girnaway.  'Deed,  sir,  I  can  only  speak  o'  my  ain  experience. 
Doubtless,  there  are  some,  but  no  great  feck ;  and  I  hae  seen  my  ain 
weans  and  servants,  after  glowring  at  them  a  while  on  the  dresser  or 
the  bunker,  fling  them  frae  them,  like  rowans,  and  neist  time  I  see 
them  it's  on  the  midden.     Hawkers  come  mair  speed  wi'  ribbons, 

11* 


250  NOCTES   AMBEOSIAN^.  [Sept 

and  shears,  and  knives,  and  bits  o'  funny  ballads,  than  profanity  and 
sedition.     But  the  General  Assembly  should  ken  best. 

Gudewife.  Now,  ma  man,  Gibbie,  the  guse  is  getting  eauld.  I 
maun  inveet  the  lave  o'  them  in.  The  fiddles  and  the  skirling  is 
baith  quate. 

{Exit  the  Gudewife^  and  enters  tvith  the  Standard  Bearer, 
Chieftain,  Buller,  Seward,  Tickler,  and  Mr.  Black- 
wood.) 

Mr.  North.  Might  I  take  the  liberty  of  requesting  the  pleasure  of 
your  daughter's  company,  maam.  Mr.  Buller  will  go  for  his  part- 
ner. (Buller  darts  off.) 

Gudewife.  I  like  to  see  my  bairns  respecket,  sir,  and  Grace  can 
show  her  face  ony  where, — sae  can  her  cousin  Mysie.  (Tickler 
darts  off])  And  her  friend.  Miss  Susy,  the  only  dochter  o'  the  Anti- 
burgher  minister,  wha  was  dancing  wi'  Mr.  Blackwood.  (Mr. 
Blackwood  darts  off.)  And  Meg  herself,  though  she  hasna  ta'en 
on  muckle  o'  a  polish,  sin'  she  came  from  about  Glasgow,  is  a  decent 
hizzie.  (Chieftain  darts  off.)  Yon  bit  white-faced  lassie,  wi'  the 
jimp  waist,  and  genteel  carriage,  is  the  butcher's  only  bairn,  and  a 
great  heiress.  (Seward  darts  off)  Preserve  us,  are  they  a'  coming 
to  soop  ?  Weel,  weel,  we  maun  sit  close.  Where's  Mr.  Odoc- 
terme  1 

Adjutant.  Here,  maam. 

[Gudeman  nays  grace,  and  the  Company  fall  to.) 

Gudewife.  I  fear,  Mr.  Adjutant,  that  you  fin'  that  spawl  o'  the 
gusy  rather  teuch  ? 

Odoherty.  As  tender  as  a  chicken,  I  assure  you,  ma'am.  If  it 
were  as  tough  as  timber  I  care  not.  I  never  made  a  better  supper 
in  all  my  life,  than  I  did  one  night  in  Spain,  on  the  tail  of  an  old 
French  artillery  horse.     It  was  short,  but  sweet. 

Gudewife.  Let  me  lay  some  more  rumble-te- thumps  on.  your 
plate,  Colonel  Odocterme.  The  tail  o'  a  horse !  What  some  brave 
sodgers  hae  gone  through  in  foreign  parts,  for  our  sakes  at  hame !  I 
could  greet  to  think  on't. 

Mr.  North.  Mrs.  Girnaway,  I  propose  to  drink  the  health  of  your 
absent  son,  Mr.  Gilbert  Girnaway,  student  of  divinity,  and  teacher 
at  Torbolton. 

Gudeman.  He  couldna  leave  his  scholars,  or  he  would  hae  been  to 
Embro'  to  see  the  King,  like  the  lave.  I'se  drink  the  callan's  health 
wi'  richt  good  will.  "  Here's  our  Gilbert."  Hoots,  Tibbie,  you 
silly  thing,  what  for  are  you  greeting  ? 

Odoherty.  "  Oh !  Beauty's  tear  is  lovelier  than  her  smile."  But 
gentlemen,  Miss  Grace  Girnaway  will  give  us  a  song.  Mr.  Buller, 
will  you  prevail  upon  Miss  Girnaway  for  a  song — something  plain- 
tive and  pathetic,  if  you  please. 


1822.]  COUNTEY   SONGS.  251 

Miss  Grace  (sings) 

Oh !  white  is  thy  bosom,  and  blue  is  thine  eye, 
The  light  is  a  tear,  and  the  sound  is  a  sigh  ! 
Thy  love  is  like  friendship,  thy  friendship  like  love, 
And  that  is  the  reason  I  call  thee — my  Dove. 

Oh  !  sweet  to  my  soul  is  the  balm  of  thy  breath, 
As  a  dew-laden  gale  from  the  rich-blossom'd  heath ; 
Can  it  be  that  all  beauty  doth  fade  in  an  hour  ? 
Then  let  that  be  the  reason  I  call  thee — my  Flower. 

On  the  wide  sea  of  life  shines  one  unclouded  light. 
And  still  it  burns  softest  and  clearest  by  night ; 
But  its  lustre,  thoijgh  lovely,  alas,  is  afar, 
And  that  is  the  reason  I  call  thee — my  Star. 

But  the  dove  seeks  her  nest  in  the  forest  so  green, 
And  the  flower  in  its  fragrance  is  fading  unseen ; 
The  star  in  its  bi-ightness  the  sea-mist  will  hide, 
So  come  to  my  heart,  while  I  call  thee — my  Bride. 

Gudeman.  She's  no  a  taucht  singer,  our  Grace ;  .bnt  neither  is  a 
lintwhite  nor  a  laverock.  Her  father,  Mr.  North,  likes  to  hear  her 
singing  by  the  ingle — and  he  likes  to  hear  her  singing  in  the  kirk. 
Mr.  Buller,  you  English  winna  like  the  hamely  lilt  o'  a  Scottish 
farmer's  dochter  1 

Mr.  Buller.  Liveliness,  modesty,  cheerfulness,  innocence,  and 
beauty,  I  hope  can  be  felt  by  an  English  heart,  loved  and  respected, 
wherever  they  smile  before  his  eye,  or  melt  upon  his  ear.  "  Your 
fair  and  good  daughter's  health  and  song — and  may  she  long  live  to 
be  a  blessing  and  a  pride  to  her  parents." 

Gudewife.  Ay,  ay,  a  blessing,  but  no  a  pride.  Pride's  no  for 
human  creatures,  but  gratitude  is ;  and  we  thank  God,  Gilbert  and 
I,  for  naething  mair  than  for  gieing  us  weel-liked  and  dutiful  bairns. 

Mr.  Tickler.  If  ever  I  saw  a  singing  face  in  my  life,  it  is  that  of 
my  sweet  Mysie's.  My  dear,  will  you  sing,  now  that  your  fair" 
cousin  has  broken  the  ice  ? 

Gudewife.  Will  she  sing  1  We'll  gar  her  sing.  We  maun  a'  con- 
tribute. 

Mr.  Blackwood,  {starting.)  We  maun  a'  contribute !  Whose 
voice  was  that  promising  an  article  1 

Gudewife.  I  say,  sir,  we  maun  a'  contribute.  Mysie's  gaun  to  gie 
you  a  sang.  Aiblins  it  may  get  into  print.  Come,  Mysie,  clear 
your  pipes. 

Miss  Mysie.  Grace,  let  us  sing  The  Shepherdess  and  the 
Sailor.     I  shall  be  the  Sailor  this  time. 

Sailor.  When  lightning  parts  the  thunder-cloud 

That  blackens  all  the  sea. 
And  tempests  sough  through  sail  and  shroud, 
Even  then  I  think  on  thee,  Mary. 


253  NOCTES   AMBKOSIANiE.  [Sept. 

Shepherdess.  I  wrap  me  in  that  keepsake  plaid, 
And  lie  doun  'mang  the  snaw ; 
While  frozen  are  the  tears  I  shed 
For  him  that's  far  awa',  Willy  ! 

Sailor.  We  sail  past  mony  a  bonny  isle, 

Wi'  maids  the  shores  are  thrang ; 
Before  my  ee  there's  but  ae  smile, 
Within  my  ear  ae  sang,  Mary. 

Shepherdess,  In  kirk,  on  every  Sabbath  day, 
For  aue  on  the  great  deep 
Unto  my  G-od  I  humbly  pray — 
And  as  I  pray,  I  weep,  Willy.    » 

Sailor.  The  sands  are  bright  wi'  golden  shells. 

The  groves  wi'  blossoms  fair : 
And  I  think  upon  the  heather-bells 
That  deck  thy  glossy  hair,  Mary. 

Shepherdess.  I  read  thy  letters  sent  from  far, 
And  aft  I  kiss  thy  name. 
And  ask  my  Maker,  frae  the  war 
If  ever  thou'lt  come  hame,  Willy. 

Sailor.  What  though  your  father's  hut  be  lown 

Aneath  the  green-hill  side  ? 
The  ship  that  Willy  sails  in,  blown 
Like  chaff  by  wind  and  tide,  Mary? 

Shepherdess.  Oh  !  weel  I  ken  the  raging  sea, 
And  a'  the  steadfast  laud, 
Are  held,  wi'  specks  like  thee  and  me, 
In  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  Willy. 

Sailor.  He  sees  thee  sitting  on  the  brae, 

Me  hanging  on  the  mast ; 
And  o'er  us  baith,  in  dew  or  spray. 
His  saving  shield  is  cast,  Mary. 

{Sonff  interrupted  by  loud  cries  of  murder  heard  from  the 
Kitchen^  and  a  crash  of  chairs^  and  tumbling  of  tables,  Omnes 
rush  out.) 

SCENE  m.—The  Kitchen. 

Saunders  M^Murdo — Smith.  I'll  no  tak  a  blow  frae  the  haun  o' 
ony  leevin'  man. — Kate  Craigie,  I  say,  ma  woman,  tak  away  your 
grips.  He  may  be  the  miller,  but  I  awe  him  nae  thirlage ;  and  mak 
room,  and  I'll  gie  him  the  floor,  like  a  sack  o'  his  ain  meal. 

Pate  Muter.  He  wud  rug  Kate  aff  my  knee,  so  I  gied  him  a  clour 
on  his  harn-pan.  I'm  no  for  fechtin'.  I  haena  fochten  since  Falkirk 
Tryst,  when  I  brak  the  ribs  o'  that  Hieland  drover.  Peace  is  best. 
But  Stan'  back,  Burniwin',  or  you  may  as  weel  rin  into  the  fanners 
or  the  mill-wheel  at  ance. 


1822.]  north's  speech.  253 

Davie  Girnaway.  I'll  hae  nae  fechtin'  in  my  father's  house. — 
Mysie,  bring  my  sword. — Saunders  M'Murdo,  you're  an  unhappy 
man  when  you  get  a  drap-drink — Lowsen  his  neckcloth,  he's  getting 
black  i'  the  face. 

Mr.  North.  Saunders  M'Murdo,  Pate  Muter, — I  speak  to  you  both 
as  a  peace-maker.  Why  this  outrage  in  the  family  of  the  Girna- 
ways  1  Has  party  instigated  this  unbecoming,  this  shameful  brawl  % 
Party!  and  the  King  in  Scotland?  Smith,  Miller,  you  are  both 
honorable  men.  Your  professions  are  indispensable.  Without  you, 
what  is  this  agricultural  parish  1  Will  you  shake  hands,  and  be 
friends'?  I  see  you  will.  Advance  towards  each  other  like  men. 
There,  there.     Go  where  I  will  I  am  a  peace-maker. 

{Smith  and  Miller  shake  hands,  and  quiet  is  restored.) 

Gudewife.  Weel,  weel ;  little  dune's  soonest  mended.  But  I  never 
saw  a  kirn  yet  without  a  fecht0«ometimes  half a-dozen.  After  a 
storm  comes  a  cakn ;  ye  may  say  that.  There  ye  a'  sit,  every  lad 
beside  his  lass,  as  douce  as  gin  the  Gudeman  were  gaun  to  tak  the 
Book.     It's  a  curious  world. 

Gudeman.  Hand  your  tongue,  Tibbie.  Bring  ben  the  plotty  and 
a'  the  spirits  into  the  Kitchen ;  and  a'  bad  bluid  shall  be  at  an  end, 
when  ilka  ane,  lad  and  lass,  wife  and  widow,  drinks  a  glass  to  the 
King. 

Davie  Girnaway.  Here's  the  plotty  ;  put  out  the  tables. — Thank 
ye,  Mr.  Odoherty. — Tak  tent  ye  dinna  lame  yourself,  Mr.  North, 
Hooly  and  fairly — hooly  and  fairly. 

(The  tables  are  set  out,  a7id  quaichs  and  coups  laid.) 

Gudeman.  Now,  Mr.  North,  we're  a'  looking  to  you.  Ye  maun 
gie  us  twa  or  three  words  to  the  king's  health.  I  canna  speechify, 
but  I  can  roar.  And  Fse  do  that  wi'  a  vengeance  at  the  hip,  hip. — 
Fill  a'  your  quaichs  till  they're  sooming  ower. 

Mr.  North.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Girnaway,  Ladies  and  Gentlemen, 
We  are  now  assembled  round  the  table  of  a  Scottish  yeoman,  to 
drink  to  the  health  of  his  Most  Gracious  Majesty  King  George  the 
Fourth.  He  is  within  about  twelve  miles,  as  the  crow  flies,  of  where 
we  now  stand.  Is  it  not  almost  the  same  thing  as  if  he  were  actually 
here,  in  this  very  room,  standing  there  beside  the  Laird  himself,  and 
with  the  light  of  that  very  fire  shining  upon  his  royal  visage  ?  I 
speak  now  to  you,  who  have,  most  of  you,  seen  the  King.  You  saw 
him  surrounded  with  hundreds  of  thousands  of  his  shouting  subjects,, 
who  had  then  but  one  great  heart,  whose  looks  were  lightning,  and 
whose  voice  was  thunder.  You  had  all  heard,  read,  thought  of  your 
King.  But  he  was  to  you  but  the  image  of  a  dream — a  shadowy 
phanthom  on  a  far-off  throne.  Even  then  you  were  leal  and  loyal, 
as  Scotsmen  have  ever  been,  who  in  peace  prove  their  faith  by  the 
sweat  of  their  brows,  and  in  war  by  the  blood  of  their  hearts.     Now, 


254  NOCTES   AMBKOSIAI^iE.  [Sept. 

do  not  the  elder  among  you  feel  like  the  brethren,  and  the  younger 
like  the  children,  of  your  King  ?  He  has  breathed  our  free  northern 
air — he  has  felt  one  of  our  easterly  haars  upon  his  brows — he  has 
heard  our  dialect — he  has  trodden  our  soil — he  has  eaten  our  bread, 
and  drunk  our  water — he  has  hailed,  and  been  hailed,  by  countless 
multitudes,  on  the  ramparts  of  our  unconquered  citadel — and  he  has 
prayed  to  the  God  of  his,  and  our  fathers,  in  our  ancient  and  holy 
temple.  Therefore,  by  our  pride,  by  our  glory,  and  by  our  faith,  do 
we  now  love  great  George  our  King.  What  if  he  had  not  known 
the  character  of  the  people  over  whom  he  reigned  1  Their  patience, 
their  fortitude — their  courage — their  unquaking  confidence  in  their 
own  right  arms — and  their  sacred  trust  in  God  1  What  if  he  had 
trembled  on  his  throne,  and  imagined  in  that  terror  that  its  founda- 
tions were  shaken  by  that  great  earthquake  that  shook  to  pieces  the 
powers  on  the  Continent  ?  We  )|ad  then  been  lost.  England,  Scot- 
land, would,  at  this  hour,  have  been  peopled  by  slaves. — Our  har- 
vests would  not  have  been  reaped,  as  they  now  are,  by  the  hands  of 
freemen — the  stack-yard  would  not  have  belonged  to  him  who  built 
it — we  should  not  have  been  assembled  round  this  ingle — nor  would 
there  have  been  on  the  earth  these  faces,  fair  and  bright  with  beauty, 
intelligence  and  virtue.  The  British  monarchy  would  have  been 
destroyed — equal  liberties  and  equal  laws  abrogated,  effaced,  and 
obliterated,  for  ever — our  parish  schools  and  our  kirks  levelled  with 
the  dust,  religion  scorned,  and  education  proscribed — the  light  of 
knowledge  and  of  love  equally  extinguished,  and  darkness  on  the 
hearth,  and  on  the  altar.  It  was  he,  George  the  Fourth,  who,  under 
God,  saved  us  and  our  country  from  such  evils,  and  who  has  pre- 
served to  us,  unscathed  by  the  fire  through  which  they  have  passed, 
our  liberties  and  our  laws.  He  saw  into  our  hearts,  and  knew  of 
what  stuff  they  were  made.  He  saw  that  to  us  death  was  nothing — 
but  that  disgrace  and  degradation  was  more  than  we  could — more 
than  we  would  bear.  Toil,  taxes,  tears  and  blood,  were  demanded  of 
us,  not  by  the  voice  of  our  own  King,  but  by  the  voice  of  all  our 
kings  and  heroes  speaking  through  him — by  the  voices  of  our  own 
Wallace  and  our  own  Bruce.  We  fought,  and  we  conquered — and 
we  are  free.  Therefore,  now  let  each  maiden  smile  upon  her  friend 
or  lover — fill  your  cups  to  the  brim — join  hands — take  a  kiss,  my 
lads,  if  you  will — The  King. 

Hip,  hip,  hip — hurra,  hurra,  hurra — Hip,  hip,  hip — hurra,  hurra, 
hurra — Hip,  hip,  hip — hurra,  hurra,  hurra — Hip,  hip,  hip — hurra, 
hurra,  hurra ! 

The  Smith.  I  was  in  the  vn:-ang,  I  was  in  the  wrang — I  acknow- 
ledge't.  Gies  your  haun  again.  Miller.  If  ever  need  be,  we'll  fecht 
thegither,  baith  on  ae  side,  for  the  King. 

The  Miller.  There's  flour  of  speech  for  you.     Gif  he  were  but  in 


1822.]  NORTH   A   FAKMEK.  255 

Parliament,  he  would  lay  his  flail  about  him  till  the  chaff  flew  into 
the  een  o'  the  Opposition  frae  the  threshing-floor.  Will  ye  stan'  for 
the  borough,  Mr.  North  1  I'll  secure  you  the  brewer's  vote  o'er  bye 
yonder ;  or  would  you  prefer  the  county  1  Ye'se  hae  either  for  the 
asking. 

Mr.  North.  My  highest  ambition,  Mr.  Muter,  is  to  retire  into  the 
rural  shades,  and  becomefa  farmer. 

The  Miller.  Come  out,  then,  near  the  Ferry.  Take  a  lease  frae 
Lord  Hopetoun.  I'll  grin'  a'  your  meal,  wheat,  aits,  and  barley  for 
naething.  A'  the  time  you  were  speaking,  I  felt  as  if  I  could  hae 
made  a  speech  mysel.  When  you  stopt,  it  was  like  the  stopping 
of  a  band  o'  music  on  the  street,  when  the  sodgers  are  marching  by. 
It  was  like  the  stopping  o'  the  happer  o'  the  mill. 

Gudewife.  Mysie,  Girzzy,  Meg,  or  some  o'  you,  open  the  wun- 
nock-shutters.  {They  do  so.) 

Mr.  North.  A  burst  of  day !  The  sun  has  been  up  for  hours. 
What  a  bright  and  beautiful  harvest  morning  !  The  sea  is  rolling  in 
gold.  See,  there  is  the  Orion  beating  up — close  hauled.  The  best 
of  friends  must  part. 

(The  whole  party  breaks  up^  and  accompany  North,  cS;c. 
to  the  beach. 

END      OF     ACT      THIRD. 


No.  VI.— DECEMBEE,  1822. 

Die  veneris,  Node  \^ta  Mensis  Decemb. 
Present — The  Editor's  most  excellent  Magazinity  in  Council. 

Norths  (proloquitur.)  Mr.  Odoherty,  it  is  to  be  hoped  you  have 
not  come  to  such  an  affair  as  this,  to  eat  the  flesh  of  the  wild  boar 
of  the  forest,  and  the  red  deer  of  the  hills,  at  the  expense  of  our 
noble  friend,  without  preparing  a  small  canticle  in  honor  of  his  gifts — 
something  in  the  occasional  way,  as  it  were  1 

Odoherty.  If  the  Hogg  will  take  the  Boar,  I  will  venture  on  the 
Deer. 

Hogg.  Done  for  a  saxpence — here's  my  thumb  :  sing  ye  awa, 
Captain,  and  I'll  be  casting  for  an  edeeo.  in  the  meantime. 

Odoherty.  Look  sharp,  if  you  get  a  nibble,  Shepherd — /  nunc  et 
versus, — here  goes  then. 

Odoherty  (sings.) 

There's  a  Spanish  grandee  on  the  banks  of  the  Dee,* 

A  fine  fellow  is  he — a  finer  is  none ; 
For  though  he  is  so  great,  and  high  in  estate, 

He  is  also  first-rate  in  the  peerage  of  fun. 
Then  fill  to  Lord  Fife,  in  condiments  rife 

To  the  end  of  this  life  his  career  may  he  run  ; 
And  his  tree  that  hath  stood,  at  the  least  since  the  Flood, 

Oh  \  may't  flourish  and  bud  till  our  Planet's  undone ! 

2, 
When  our  Monarch  was  here,  this  munificent  peer 

Did  in  glory,  'tis  clear,  make  the  famousest  show, 
With  his  swapping  gray  fillies,  and  "  naked-feet "  gillies ; 

Their  Set-Outs  look'd'  like  Dillies— but  his  was  the  go. 
Even  the  King  took  delight,  in  that  equipage  bright. 

Through  Auld  Reekie,  by  night,  for  to  ride  to  and  fro ; 
When  I  look'd  through  the  pane,  I  saw  Him  and  the  Thane : 

Ere  I  die,  once  again  let  me  look  on  them  so. 

3. 

How  genteel  were  his  looks — not  at  all  like  some  dukes, 
Who  stood  shivering  like  rooks  in  a  pluvious  day — 

•  The  Earl  of  Fife  holds  a  Spanish  title  of  nobility,  and  is  also  a  General  officer  in  the 
Spanish  army.     He  obtained  these  honors  during  the  Peninsular  War. — M. 


1822.]  LOED  fife's   COTJNTET.  257 

Sure  his  graceship  of  Brandon  has  but  little  to  stand  on,* 

When  he  doth  abandon  the  Gothic  array. 
If  a  man  of  that  rank  must  sport  such  a  shank, 

My  Maker  I  thank  for  my  humble  degree  ; 
But  I'd  rather  by  half,  have  the  Thane's  rousing  calf. 

And  enjoy  a  good  laugh,  with  fine  trews  to  my  knee. 

4. 
Fill  a  glass  to  the  brim,  and  down  pour  it  to  Him 

"Who  our  grave  Sanhedrim  doth  so  love  and  revere ; 
Who  hath  given  his  command,  that  the  fat  of  his  land 

Be  bestowed  on  the  band  of  philosophers  here. 
The  Boar  of  the  wood  hath  to-day  been  our  food, 

And  some  slices  we've  chewed  of  a  very  fine  Deer ; 
Till  expires  life's  last  ember,  I'm  sure  we'll  remember 

The  fifieenth  of  December — the  ehiefest  of  cheer. 

5. 
Let  us  hope  he'll  produce  such  affairs  for  the  use 

Of  our  gastric  juice,  meri'y  years  not  a  few  ; 
Our  bountiful  friend  may  on  one  thing  depend — 

Such  a  feast  shall  not  end  sans  disturbing  the  screw ; 
No  !  by  jingo,  eaeh  throttle  shall  imbibe  the  sum-^o;;^Ze* 

Of  a  tappit-hen  bottle  of  Chateau-margaux, — ■ 
Excepting  old  Hogg,  who  must  stick  to  his  grog, 

Or  else  speedily  jog  to  give  Satan  his  due. 

North.  Very  well,  Adjutant.  You  are  all  filled ;  take  the  time 
from  me — The  Thane  ! — {Here  the  roof  is  nearly  brought  down  with 
a  three-tlmeis-three.) 

Hogg.  But  wha  ever  heard  o'  wild  boars  in  Scotland  at  this  time 
o'  day  1 

North.  Why,  I  believe  the  Thane  has  introduced  the  breed 
among  the  remains  of  the  old  Caledonian  forest  on  his  Mar  estate. 

Hogg.  What  a  grand  country  that  is  o'  the  Thane's  !  Did  you 
never  see  it,  Mr.  North  ] 

North.  Only  a  slight  view  when  I  was  at  Deeside,  for  our  famous 
12th  of  August — but  I'm  sure  'tis  not  for  want  of  invitations  I  don't 
see  more  of  it.  Here  is  a  letter  I  had  from  the  Thane  this  morning, 
in  answer  to  my  acknowledgment  of  the  hamper  which  has  just  been 
contributing  to  your  comforts. 

Kempfei-hausen.  I  believe  it  is  acknowledged,  that  the  Thane  has 
as  fine  estates  as  any  nobleman  in  Scotland,  and  has  done  a  vast  deal 
for  them. 

Hogg.  Oh  !  nothing  like  that  magnificent  country — nothing  in  all 
the  North  ;  and  anybody  may  see  it,  for  there  are  most  noble  roads 
through  woods  extremely  valuable  and  important  to  the  country, 
being  now  almost  the  only    remains    of  the    Caledonian  Forests ; 

*  The  Hereditary  Keeper  of  Holyrood  Palace,  head  of  the  Douglas  family,  is  the  Duke  of 
Hamilton  in  Scotland,  and  Brandon  on  the  peerage  of  England. — M. 
t  Vide  Hume  passim, — C,  N. 


4 

258  NOCTES  AMBEOSIAN^.  [Dec. 

and  if  you  will  look  at  Barlow  on  the  Strength  of  Timber  and  his 
Experiments,  you  will  see  that  the  timber  there  beats  the  Riga  red 
pine.  The  Thane  is  careful  to  preserve  it  for  the  use  of  the  country, 
whenever  it  may  be  wanted.  The  roads  extend  over  mountains,  the 
sides  of  some  are  defended  by  great  dykes,  and  all  planted  to  join 
the  old  wood,  and  to  preserve  the  young  natural  plants.  I  assure 
you,  Mr.  North,  that  the  place  is  well  worth  your  attention  whenever 
you  can  find  time  to  see  it. 

North.  I  shall  go  next  year,  I  think. 

Tickler.  What  is  best  of  all  is,  that  the  comfort  of  the  people  is 
attended  to,  and  I  do  not  believe  there  is  a  Highland  district  where 
the  poor  are  so  well  provided. .  There  is  one  side  of  the  country 
kept  for  sheep,  and  the  other  for  deer.  Some  of  the  highest  moun- 
tains in  the  kingdom  are  to  be  seen.  One  of  them  is  considered  to 
be  as  high  or  higher  than  Ben  Nevis — the  Dee  also  rises  in  the 
Forest.  All  through  Lord  Fife's  country  great  improvements  are 
taking  place.  The  Abbey  of  Pluscardine,  near  Elgin,  has  been 
restored. 

Odoherty.  Hogg,  you've  been  "  glowring  frae  you,"  and  preaching 
long  enough  ;  inci2:>e  nunc,  musa  ! 

Hogg.  I  canna  sing  yet.  Captain  :  just  bear  wi'  me  till  I've  had 
another  tumbler  or  twa — that's  a  good  fellow,  now — I'll  gie  ye  sangs 
anew  or  the  morn's  morning. 

North.  No  compulsion  here ;  this  is  Liberty  Hall :  but  you  must 
tell  a  story,  Shepherd,  or  drink  the  forfeit. 

Hogg.  Ae  braw  simmer  day  I  was  sitting  wi'  my  corbie-craw 
piking  at  my  taes  :  and  auld  Hector,  puir  chield,  him  that's  awa — 
and  wha  should  step  in  to  tak  his  morning  wi'  me  but  Tammy  Braid- 
shaw,  ye  ken — 

Tickler.  Come,  come,  Chaldean  sage;  we've  all  heard  that  a 
hundred  times. 

Hogg.  Weel,  try  your  haund  yoursell.  I'm  to  tell  a'  my  new 
stories  here  forsooth,  and  what  would  come  of  my  new  Winter 
Evening  Tales,  think  ye. 

Tickler.  To  be  sure  mutton's  a  drug  at  present,  What  news 
from  Germany,  Meinheer  Kempferhausen  1 

Kempferhausen.  The  celebrated  professor  of  Ingolstadt,  Doctor 
Blumensucker,  is  about  to  put  forth  his  long-expected  work  "  De  Be 
Chaldca^^ — full  notes,  capital  portraits  of  every  body. 

North.  Bravo  !  Vir  Clariss. — I  wonder  no  London  bookseller  gets 
up  an  illustrated  edition  of  the  Chaldee — Barker  for  Editor.* 

Tickler.  The  Constitutional  would  be  at  it.f 

*  Edmund  Henry  Barker  (born  1788,  died  1839.)  was  one  of  the  most  eminent  of  modern 
scholars.  He  edited  Stephens'  "Thesaurus  Linguae  Graecae,"  a  gigantic  performance.  Besides 
this,  he  edited  Prolegomena  to  Homer,  Lempriere,  and  other  school  books.  He  contributed 
largely  to  the  Classical  Journals,  the  British  Critic,  and  other  periodicals.— M. 

t  The  Constitutional  Society,  in  London,  prosecuted  small  vendors  of  sedition  and  irreligion, 
but  were  too  well  bred  to  trouble  offenders  of  rank  or  wealth. — M. 


1822.]  SOTJTHET    AND   BTEON.  259 

Odoherty.  A  fig  for  the  Constitutional — you  see  they  don't  dare 
to  meddle  with  Lord  Byron  ! 

Hogg.  What  has  Byron  been  doing  in  their  line  ? 

Odoherty.  The  Liberal,  you  know. 

Tickler.  Poo,  poo,  Odoherty,  you  know  as  well  as  I  that  he  had 
very  little  to  do  with  that  humbug. 

Odoherty.  To  be  sure  I  do — There's  nothing  of  his  in  it  but  the 
Vision  of  Judgment,  and  the  Letter  to  Granny  Roberts. 

North.  What  do  you  think  of  those  compositions,  Timotheus  1 

Tickler.  I  have  never  thought  much  about  them.  But  it  strikes 
me  that  the  Vision  is  vastly  inferior  to  Beppo,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
exquisite  Don  Juan.  It  contains  a  dozen  capital  stanzas  or  so,  but 
on  the  whole  'tis  washy. 

Odoherty.  What  a  shame  it  is  to  banter  such  a  respectable  man  as 
Dr.  Southey  at  this  rate — so  uncalled  for — so  out  of  taste — so  inde- 
fensible— so  scurrilous ! 

Hogg.  Hear  till  him  !     He  has  face  for  ony  thing. 

Tickler.  I  think  Dr.  Southey  is  the  fairest  of  all  subjects,  for  my 
part.  The  man's  arrogance  and  dogmatical  airs  are  worthy  of  much 
severer  castigation  than  they  have  ever  yet  met  with.  Just  open 
one  of  his  articles  in  the  Quarterly — what  slow,  solemn,  pompous, 
self-conceit  runs  through  all  he  writes.  Do  you  remember  the  con- 
clusion of  his  Brazil  Balaam  1 

North.  I  am  ashamed  to  say  I  never  saw  the  work. 

Tickler.  Who  ever  did  ?  but  at  the  end  of  those  two  thumping 
leaden  quartos  about  Caziques,  hieroglyphical  pictures,  and  so  forth, 
thus  saith  the  Doctor — "  Thus  have  I  finished  one  of  those  great  and 
lasting  works,  to  which,  in  the  full  vigor  of  manhood,  I  looked  for- 
ward as  the  objects  of  a  life  of  literature." — 'Tis  something  like  that, 
however — did  you  ever  hear  such  like  stuff? 

Odoherty.  Often  from  the  Lakers.  They're  a  high  speaking  set 
of  boys. 

Kemyferhausen.  Oh,  Mr.  North,  Mr.  North !  that  I  should  live  to 
hear  such  words  spoken  at  your  table.  I'm  sure  you  respect  Southey, 
and  adore  Wordsworth  in  your  heart.     Mein  gott !  mein  gott ! 

NortK  I  respect  Southey  as  one  of  the  most  accomplished  scho- 
lars of  the  age;  but  I  no  more  dream  of  mentioning  him  in  the 
same  day  with  the  god  Pan,  than  I  should  of  classing  a  Jeffrey  with 
a  Hogg. 

Tickler.  Allow  me  to  utter  a  few  mouthfuls  of  common  sense. 

Omnes.  Out  with  them,  Timothy. 

Tickler.  The  fact  of  the  matter  is  this — Lord  Byron  overdoes  his 
satire.  People  won't  suffer  a  Dunciad  now-a-days  with  but  one 
Dunce  in  it.  And  the  world  were  n.ot  thinking  of  Mouthy  Southey 
or  his  hexameters. 


260 


NOCTES  AMBROSIAN^. 


[Dee. 


North.  There's  some  truth  there.     Nothing  should  be  parodied 
but  what  is  well  known. 

Tickler.    Is   the   old   song   of  An   Hundred    Years   Hence   well 
known  1 

North.  Come,  away  with  your  parody  then,  if  you  have  it  in  your 
pocket. 

(Tickler  sings,  accompanying  himself  on  the  fiddle.) 


"  Let     us  drink  and     be  mer-  ry,  Danc6,  joke,  and  re-joice,  With  cla  -  ret,  and 


i3i=  =i^;^;=te  :s==^t:  ^zzz^^  :^ZT=^=z^z=^ 

ry,  The  or  -  bo,  and  voice."  So  sings  the  old  song,  And  a    good  one  it 


-W=W- 


-•/—'/- 


Few  bet  -  ter  were  writ  -ten  From  that  day  to  this  :  And  I     hope 


may 


^^^^^^^^^ 


say   it,  And  give  no  offence,  Few  more  will  be  bet  -  ter  An  hundred  years  hence. 


In  this  year  eighteen  hundred 

And  twenty  and  two. 
There  are  plenty  of  false  ones 

And  pknty  of  true. 
There  are  brave  men  and  cowards ; 

And  bright  men  and  asses  ; 
There  are  lemon-faced  prudes ; 

There  are  kind-hearted  lasses. 
He  who  quarrels  with  this 

Is  a  man  of  no  sense, 
For  so  'twill  continue 

An  hundred  years  hence. 

3. 
There  are  people  who  rave 

Of  the  national  debt. 
Let  them  pay  off  their  own, 

And  the  nation's  forget ; 
Others  bawl  for  reform, 

Which  were  easily  done, 
If  each  would  resolve 

To  reform  Number  One : 
For  my  part  to  wisdom 

I  make  no  pretence, 
rU  be  as  wise  as  my  neighbors 

An  hundred  years  hence. 


I  only  rejoice,  that 

My  life  has  been  cast 
On  the  gallant  and  gloi-ious 

Bright  days  which  we've  past; 
When  the  flag  of  Old  England 

Waved  lordly  in  pride, 
Wherever  green  Ocean 

Spreads  his  murmuring  tide: 
And  I  pray  that  unbroken 

Her  watery  fence 
May  still  keep  off  invaders, 

An  hundred  years  hence. 

6. 

I  rejoice  that  I  saw  her 

Triumphant  in  war, 
At  sublime  Waterloo, 

At  dear-bought  Trafalgar ; 
On  sea  and  on  land, 

Wheresoever  she  fought, 
Trampling  Jacobin  tyrants 

And  slaves  as  she  ought : 
Of  Church  and  of  King 

Still  the  firmest  defence  :— 
So  may  she  continue 

An  hundred  years  hence. 


1822.1 


BTItOK. 


261 


7. 
So  let  us  be  jolly, 

Why  need  we  repine  ? 
If  grief  is  a  folly, 

Let's  drown  it  in  wine ! 
As  they  scared  away  fiends 

By  the  ring  of  a  bell, 
So  the  ring  of  the  glass 

Shall  blue  devils  expel : 
With  a  bumper  before  us 

The  night  we'll  commence 
By  toasting  true  Tories 

An  hundred  years  hence. 


Whey  then  need  I  grieve,  if 

Some  people  there  be, 
Who,  foes  to  their  country, 

Eejoice  not  with  me  ; 
Sure  I  know  in  my  heart, 

That  Whigs  ever  have  been 
Tyrannic,  or  turnspit, 

Malignant,  or  mean : 
They  were  and  ake  scoundrels 

In  every  sense, 
And  scoundrels  they  will  be 

An  hundred  years  hence. 

Hogg,  It  is  glorious !  it  is  perfectly  glorious,  as  Gray  would  say. 
Kempferhausen  {sings.) 

Stille,  hersch',  andacht,  und  der  seel'erhebung. 
Rings  umber  !     Fern  sei  was  befleekt  von  sundist, 
Was  dem  Staub  anhaftet  zu  klein  der  mencheit 

Hoperen  aufschwung ! 

Tilly  leeri,  oiko,  hi  oiko,  hi  oiko ! 

Tillee  oiko,  oiko.    Tilli  oi-i-oi-i-oiko ! 

North.  Your  voice  is  much  improved.  You  really  begin  to  sing 
now,  Meinheer. 

Kempferhausen.  Give  me  a  flash  of  the  Rudelsheimer — (i-oiko ! 
i-oko — ) 

Hogg.  Wheesht,  wheesht,  callant — you're  deafening  Mr.  Tickler. 

Tickler.  Let  me  tip  ye  another  bit  of  sense,  will  ye,  lads  % 

Odoheriy.  Indulge  the  quizz. 

Tickler.  That  song  of  Privy  Counsellor  Kempferhausen  is  as  bad 
as  "  Naked  feet,  naked  feet." 

Omnes.  No,  no,  no.  Tickler — don't  dish  the  Privy  Counsellor. 

Tickler.  Well,  then,  I  won't  for  this  once.  But,  after  all,  what  do 
you  think.  General  Christophe,  of  this  production  of  Pisa  1 

North.  I  think.  Colonel  Timothy,  that  it  is  naught.  Not  that  I 
am  in  any  danger  of  joining  in  the  vulgar  cries  that  ring  in  one's 
ears,  but  really  Lord  Byron  should  remember  that  he  is  now  a  man 
towards  forty* — and  that  if  he  passes  that  era  without  taking  up,  the 
whole  world  will  pronounce  him  an  'ncurable. 

Hogg.  Lord  keep  us !  whatfor  an  incurable  % — he's  just  ane  of  the 
finest,  cleverest  chiels  of  the  age,  and  if  he  was  here  just  now,  he 
would  be  a  delight  to  us  all. 

Odoheriy.  Experto  crede.  The  odd  fish  is  only  just  trying  how  far 
he  may  go  ;  give  him  line,  he'll  soon  come  in. 

Tickler.  He  must  cut  the  Cockney. 

Odoherty.  I  lay  a  tester  he  has  cut  him  already.  Did  you  look  at 
that  rascally  specimen  of  the  Cockneyfied  Orlando  Furioso '? 

*  In  December,  1822,  he  was  within  a  month  of  being  35.— M. 


262  NOCTES   AMBEOSIAN^.  [Dec 

North.  I  did.  But  what  was  there  to  surprise  you?  He  had 
already  done  Theocritus  into  the  psalm  measure  (long  metre) — was 
there  any  farther  march  in  the  kingdom  of*  absurdity  1 

Tickler.  No,  no;  but  one  really  cannot  suffer  such  a  fellow  to  be 
choppifying  and  patchifying  at  the  Orlando  Furioso,  without  bring- 
ing a  whip  across  his  withers.  Why,  the  whole  concern  is  abomina- 
bly, nauseous,  filthy,  base,  gingerbread.  Cockney  stuff.  One  might 
read  him  for  a  mile  without  knowing  it  was  Ariosto  he  was  after,  if 
he  did  not  clap  old  Ludovico's  name  and  surname  at  the  top  of  his 
pages!     What  impudence ! 

Odoherty.  Do  you  see  me  now,  I  think  you  are  hard  on  King 
Leigh.     His  description  of  Pisa  affected  me. 

Tickler.  What  affectation ! — 

Odoherty.  Well,  I  was  seriously  pleased  with  him.  There  is  a 
merit  in  such  candor.  The  man  tells  you  plainly,  without  going 
round  about  the  bush,  that  he  had  never  seen  a  hill  or  a  clear  stream 
before,  and  that  both  of  them  are  fine  things  in  their  way.  The 
Cockney  is  candid.  I  love  the  King.  Viva  Le  Hunto  Signior  di 
Cocagna  ! 

North.  What  an  abortion  is  that  tale  of  the  Florentine  Lovers  !* 
How  unavoidably  the  Bel  Ludgato  peeps  out !  Suffer  any  given 
Cockney  to  write  three  sentences  on  end  in  any  book  in  the  world, 
and  if  I  don't  pick  them  out  ad  aperturar}i^  dethrone  me. 

Hogg.  That's  a  stretcher,  my  man. 

North.  No  ;  for  example,  just  the  other  day,  my  friend  little  Frank 
Jeffrey,  in  one  of  those  good-humored  moments  of  utter  silliness  that 
now  and  then  obscure  his  general  respectability,  permitted  Lecturer 
Hazlitt  to  assist  him  in  doing  a  review  of  Byron's  tragedies  for  the 
Edinburgh.  If  any  one  here  has  brought  the  blue  and  yellow  with 
him  for  the  lighting  of  his  tube,  I  engage,  under  pain  of  drinking 
double  tides  till  noon,  to  mark  every  paragraph  that  Billy  dipped  his 
ugly  paw  in. 

Odoherty.  By  Jove,  here's  a  libel  for  you !  Jeffrey  and  Hazlitt 
working  at  the  same  identical  article,  like  two  girls  both  sewing  of 
one  flower,  upon  one  sampler  !     Tell  that  to  the  marines. 

Kemrpferhausen.  You  will  at  least  admit  that  Mr.  Shelley's  version 
of  the  Mayday-night  scene  has  its  merits.  1  assure  you  'tis  goot, 
very  goot. 

North.  Yes,  yes,  I  had  forgot  it.  'Tis  indeed  an  admirable  mor- 
feau, — full  of  life,  truth,  and  splendor.  I  think  it  must  be  very  like 
Goethe's  affair. 

Kempferhausen.  Oh,  very  like, — only  the  Cockney  Editors  did  not 
know  a  word  of  the  original,  and  they've  blundered  awfully  now  and 
then,  in  their  printing, — for  example,  there  is  a  wizard  call  of  "  Come 

♦  A  prose  tale  in  The  Liberal,  by  Leigh  Hunt,'.severely  reviewed  in  Maga.— M. 


1822.]  THE  CHALDEE.  263 

to  me  from  the  Sea  of  rocJcs,^^  which  is  in  my  father-tongne  felsensee. 
The  Her  Shelley,  I  suppose,  had  noted  the  German  word  on  his 
paper,  not  having  an  English  one  just  ready.  But  the  Hunts  print 
in  English  "  Come  to  me  from /e^wmee," — which  is  no  meaning  at  all, 
any  more  than  if  they  had  said,  "  Come  to  me  from  fhilabeg .'''' 

Hogg.  Oh,  what  ignoramuses — But,  I  dare  say,  yon  German  chiels 
sometimes  make  as  braw  blunders  themsels,  when  they're  yerking 
awa  at  the  Queen's  Wake,  or  the  Three  Perils  of  Man,  ower  bye 
yonder 

Odoherty.  'Tis  like  they  may, — I  don't  doubt  many  of  your  little 
exquisite  touches  of  elegance  evaporate  under  the  hands  of  your 
translators.  Kempferhausen,  himself,  has  mauled  you  at  a  time,  if 
he  would  but  own  it. 

Kempferhausen.  Conjiteor.  Miserere  Domine !  I  wrote  a  trans- 
lation of  Kenilworth,  you  know,  when  I  was  at  Hamburgh.  Well, 
I  had  forgot  that  you  English  spell  the  beast  with  an  a,  and  the  tipple 
with  an  e,  so  I  made  mine  host  of  Cumnor  sport  the  Beer  and  the 
hroken  ladle^  instead  of  the  Bear  and  the  Magged  Staff,  for  his  sign- 
post. All  Germany,  at  this  moment,  believes  that  that  was  the  real 
sign.     Indeed,  it  is  now  a  favorite  one  among  our  Teutonic  Tintos. 

Hogg.  Dinna  lose  a  night's  rest  for  that,  my  man :  ae  thing's  just 
a  good  as  anither.  It's  nae  matter  what  ane  pits  in  a  book  ;  my 
w^arst  things  aye  sell  best,  I  think.  I'm  resolved,  I'll  try  and  write 
some  awfu'  ill  thing  this  winter. 

Odoherty.  Do,  the  Agriculturists  really  must  exert  themselves  in 
these  hard  times. 

Tickler.  You  were  always  a  diligent  fellow,  Hogg  ;  of  course  The 
Three  Perils  have  a  fine  run. 

Hogg.  That's  civil 

Odoherty.  One  of  your  principal  objects  appears  to  have  been 
The  Vindication  of  the  Chaldee  of  Hogg,  (ut  cum  Glengarry 
loquar) — for  I  see  one  of  your  characters  is  yourself,  always  sport- 
ing that  venerable  lingo. 

Hogg.  Hoot !  It  was  just  the  ither  five  chapters  of  the  Chaldee  ; 
them  that  Ebony  would  not  print :  they  were  lying  moulding  in  my 
drawers,  and  I  thought  I  would  put  them  into  the  Novel  for  Balaam ; 
naebody  fand  me  out,  — I  kent  that  would  be  the  way  o't. 

Odoherty.  After  all,  Hogg,  what  devil  possessed  you  to  own  the 
Chaldee  % 

Hogg.  I  wish  ye  would  let  me  eat  my  victuals,  and  drink  my 
liquor  in  peace ;  I've  been  up  since  four  in  the  morning  among  the 
drovers,  and  I'm  no  able  to  warstle  wi'  you  the  night. 

North.  Don't  mind  these  scamps,  Hogg.  Why,  there's  not  one 
of  'em  but  would  give  his  ears  to  write  any  thing  half  so  fine  as  the 
opening  chapters  of  the  second  volume  of  your  Perils. 


264:  NOCTES  AMBEOSIAN^.  [Dec. 

Tickler.  Has  Hogg  heard  or  seen  the  Epigrams  by  Mr.  Webb, 
and  Mr.  Hazlitt,  on  General  North's  arms  % 

Hogy.  Deil  a  bit  o'  me.  Od !  there's  nae  wale  o'  Epigrams  on 
Yarrow  water. 

Tickler.  Then  listen.  William  Hazlitt,  in  the  first  place,  being 
asked  by  Leigh  Hunt,  why  North's  crest  is  a  Rose,  a  Thistle,  and  a 
Shamrock,  made  these  lines  by  way  of  answer.  At  least  they  are 
attributed  to  him  by  the  Whigs  here.  But,  to  be  sure,  he  must 
have  been  in  a  sweet  humor  : 

"  You  ask  me,  kind  Hunt,  why  does  Christopher  North 
For  his  crest,  Thistle,  Shamrock,  and  Rose  blazen  forth  ? 
The  answer  is  easy  :  his  pages  disclose 
The  splendor,  the  fragrance,  the  grace  of  the  Rose ; 
Yet  so  humble,  that  he,  though  of  writers  the  chief, 
In  modesty  vies  with  the  Shamrock's  sweet  leaf; 

Like  the  Thistle ! Ah  1  Leigh,  you  and  I  must  confess  it, 

Nemo  me  (is  his  motto)  impune  lacesset." 

Hogg.  Very  weel,  very  weel,  indeed;  the  lad's  on  the  mending 
hand  I  think,  sirs. 

Tickler.  Yet  I  think  Corny  Webb's  verses  are  neater  : 

"  Each  leaf  which  we  see  over  Christopher's  helm 

Is  an  emblem  of  part  of  our  insular  realm : 

The  well-fought-for  Rose,  is  of  England  the  bearing, 

The  Thistle  of  Scotland,  the  Shamrock  of  Erin : 

And  they  therefore  are  borne  by  the  Star  of  the  Forth, 

For  Kit  North  loves  all  three,  and  all  three  love  Kit  North." 

Odoherty.  Rather  jaw-breaking  that  last  line,  like  Cornelius's 
sonnets  ;  but  truth  may  well  compensate  for  want  of  melody.* 

Hogg.  It  often  surprises  me  when  I  think  on't.  But,  after  a', 
there's  but  few  of  the  First-raters,  except  Christopher  himself  here, 
that  really  excels  in  periodical  writing  ;  I  confess  I  never  thought 
I  myself  for  ane  was  ony  great  dab  in  that  department. 

Tickler.  Let  me  see — this  is  an  ingenious  start  of  the  Shepherd's. 
But,  after  all,  is  there  truth  in  what  he  says  1  Is  not  he  himself  a 
goodish  periodicaller  1 

Kempferhausen.  Donner  and  blitzen  !  do  you  talk  so  of  the  author 
of  the  Chaldee '? 

Tickler.  Aye,  that,  to  be  sure,  is  one  chef-d'oeuvre;  but  on  the 
whole,  I,  though  I  love  and  admire  Hogg  as  much  as  any  one,  must 
honestly  and  fairly  say,  that  I  consider  him  as  inferior  to  Jeffrey  in 
re  periodicali. 

North.  No  doubt  he  is.  In  fact,  Hogg  has  always  had  his  eyes  on 
other  affairs — perhaps  on  higher. 

Hogg.  Na,  na — nane  o'  youa  jeers,  auld  man  ! 

•  Cornelius  Webbe,  a  London  writer,  author  of  Glancesat  Life,  Sonnets,  &o. — M. 


1822.]  CAMPBELL.  265 

North.  I  don't  so  much  wonder  at  Hogg  ;  but  what  do  you  say  to 
Tom  Campbell  ? 

Tickler.  Why,  1  don't  know  that  we  have  any  proper  data  yet 
to  judge  of  Tommy.  His  magazine  is  a  very  queer  book.  It  is 
almost  all  (I  mean  the  large  print)  very  decently  written.  There  is 
a  certain  sort  of  elegance  in  many  papers,  and  a  certain  sort  of  very 
neatish  information  in  others ;  but  the  chief,  and  indeed  the  damni- 
fying defect,  is  a  total  want  of  gist.  Is  there  any  one  can  tell  me  at 
this  moment  of  any  one  purpose  that  work  appears  to  keep  in 
view  ? 

Kempferhausen.  Mr.  North,  did  you  not  like  the  letters  of  Don 
Leucadio  Doblado  *?* 

North.  To  be  sure  I  did,  and  did  I  not  like  the  Confessions  of  the 
Opium  Eater,  too  '? — but  I  do  no  more  think  of  judging  of  the  two  Lon- 
don Magazines  by  these  things,  than  I  would  think  of  estimating  the 
Edinburgh  Review,  as  a  book,  by  the  few  occasional  pages  of  the 
old  Arch-libeller's  own  penmanship,  which  now  and  then  adorn  it  in 
these  its  degenerate  days. 

Tickler.  The  real  defect  is  in  my  friend  Tom.  He  is  lazy,  and  he 
is  timorous,— are  not  these  qualities  enough  for  your  problem? 

Odoherty.  Let  them  pass.  Lord  Byron  is  neither  lazy  nor  timo- 
rous,— and  yet,  you  see,  he  is  also  a  failure  in  this  line. 

North.  Not  at  all — he  is  a  man  made  for  that  sort  of  fun.  But 
what  would  the  Duke  of  Wellington  himself  do,  if  he  were  obliged 
to  consult  Jeremy  Bentham  about  his  movements  ?  Knock  off  his 
handcuffs — I  mean  the  Cockneys — and  you'll  see  Byron  is  a  sweet 
fellow  yet. 

Tickler.  I  was  distressed  to  see  John  Bull  abusing  The  Liberal  as 
he  did.  John  should  be  above  such  palaver;  but  1  see  he,  with  all  his 
wit,  makes  a  few  sacrifices  to  humbug.  What  now  can  be  more  ex- 
quisitely ludicrous  than  the  anti-Catholic  zeal  of  such  a  chap  as  Bull  1 

Odoherty^  {laying  finger  on  noae^  and  eyeing  Mr.  Editor.)  Poo ! 
poo  !  we  could  match  that  elsewhere. 

North,  with  an  agreeable  knitting  of  brows.  Silence,  Standard- 
bearer  ! 

Hogg.  I'll  no  hear  Lord  Byron  abused,  for  he  has  ay  been  a  kind 
friend  to  me.  But,  oh,  sirs !  what  could  gar  him  put  in  yon  awfu' 
words  about  the  gude  auld  King ;  and  now  that  the  worthy  sant's  in 
heaven,  too  %  or  whare  did  ever  ony  body  see  ony  thing  like  yon 
epigramsf  on  Lord  Castlereagh's  death  % 

*  By  Rev.  J.  Blanco  White,  a  Spaniard. — M. 

+  The  "  Vision  of  Jndgment,"  (a  burlesque  on  a  very  pretentious  poem  of  the  same  name, 
by  Southey.)  appeared  in  The  Liberal,  edited  by  Byron  and  Leigh  Hunt.  The  three  epigrams 
on  Castlereagh's  death  appeared  in  the  same  periodical.  They  were  worth  little.  The  best 
run  thus 

"  So,  He  has  cut  his  throat  at  last ! — He  !  Who  ? 
The  man  who  cut  his  country's  long  ago." — M. 
VOL.    I.  12 


266  NOCTES   AMBEOSIAN^.  [Sept. 

Tickler.  Shocking  trash  !  shocking,  shocking  ! 

Odoherty.  I  suppose  Byron  thought,  since  The  Courier  abused 
dead  Shelley,  The  Liberal  had  a  right  to  abuse  dead  Castlereagh. 

North.  Sir,  Lord  Byron  thought  no  such  thing.  Lord  Byron 
could  never  have  thought  that  he  had  a  right  to  insult  all  England, 
merely  because  one  poor  drivelling  hypocrite  had  insulted  his  friend's 
memory  in  a  newspaper.  No,  no,  there  is  no  defending  these 
things. 

Odoherty.  Particularly  as  they  happen  to  be  utterly  dull  and 
helpless,  and  as  devoid  of  point  as  the  Ettrick  Shepherd's  own 
gaucy  under-quarter,  which,  by  the  way,  I  wish  he  would  give  over 
scratching. 

North.  Once  more,  Hogg,  never  mind  them.  Your  affection  for 
Lord  Byron,  and  concern  to  see  him  acting  amiss,  do  you  much 
honor.  Whatever  examples  other  people  may  set  or  follow,  I  hope 
you  will  always  continue  to  be  of  opinion,  that  the  few  men  of 
genius  in  the  w^^rld  ought  to  respect  each  other,  rejoice  in  each 
other's  triumphs,  and  be  cast  down  by  each  other's  misfortunes. 
Such  a  way  of  thinking  is  generous,  and  worthy  of  your  kind  heart, 
my  good  worthy  friend. 

Odoherty.  Sir  Richard  Phillips  is  another  great  genius,  and  yet  he 
does  not  write  a  good  Magazine. 

Tickler.  Why,  Pythagoras,  my  dear  fellow,  is  one  of  the  most 
contemptible  Magaziners  in  the  world.  He  is  a  dirty  little  jacobin, 
that  thinks  there  is  more  merit  in  making  some  dirty  little  improve- 
ment on  a  threshing  machine,  than  in  composing  an  Iliad.  He  is  a 
mere  plodding,  thick-skulled,  prosing  dunderpate ;  and  every  thing 
he  puts  forth  seems  as  if  it  had  been  written  by  the  stink  of  gas  in 
the  fifth  story  of  a  cotton-mill — a  filthy  Jacobinical  dog,  sir. 

North.  Poor  idiot !  he  is  hammering  at  Napoleon  still ;  now,  in- 
deed, he  has  taken  to  exhibiting  a  two-penny-halfpenny  bust  of  him, 
in  his  house  in  Bridge-street.  Gentlemen  and  ladies  one  shilling — 
children  and  servants  sixpence  only  ! 

Hogg.  Speaking  about  Bonaparte,  I  wad  like  if  ye  wad  lend  me 
that  lad  Barry  O'Meara's  book  out  wi'  me  for  a  week.  I'll  return 
it  by  the  next  carrier. 

North.  Don't  read  it,  Hogg.     It's  a  piece  of  mere  trash. 

Hogg.  Od !  I  thought  I  saw  some  commendation  o't  in  the  Maga- 
zine. 

North.  Yes — but  Mr.  Croker's  letter  of  1818  had  not  been  pub- 
lished then — at  least  I  had  not  seen  it,  else  I  would  have  scored  out 
the  paragraph.* 

*  Copy  of  the  official  Letter  which  notified  to  Mr.  O'Meara  his  removal  from  the  situation 
of  a  Surgeon  in  the  Navy  : 

"Admiralty  Office,  Nov.  2,  IS18. 
"  Sir — I  have  received  and  laid  before  my  Lords  Commisioners  of  the  Admiralty  your  letter 


1822.]  BAERY   o'mEAEA.  267 

Hogg.  What  does  Crocker  say  about  him  ?  'Tis  like  he  might 
ken  something  about  him  in  Erland. 

North.  WHy,  you  see,  Mr.  Hogg,  the  story  was  just  this  : — Mr. 
O'Meara . 

Odoherty.  O'Mara,  if  you  please,  North. 

North.  Well,  Mr.  O'Marra  writes  to  the  Admiralty  in  1818,  say- 
ing that  Sir  Hudson  Lowe  had  asked  him  to  poison  Bonaparte  for 
him  in  1816.  Stop  there,  my  friend,  says  Mr.  Croker,  either  you 
are  telling  a  bit  of  .a  bouncer,  and  Sir  Hudson  never  made  any  such 
proposals  to  you  at  all ;  or  you  are  a  pretty  behaved  lad,  (are  you 
not  ?)  to  keep  the  thing  in  your  pocket  for  two  years,  and  bring  it 
out  now,  not  for  the  sake  of  justice,  but  for  the  sake  of  gratifying 
your  own  spleen.  In  short,  "  Le  Docteur  O'Meara"  was  dismissed 
his  Majesty's  service  for  this  affair,  and  that's  all. 

Kempferhausen.  Has  he  never  made  any  answer  to  all  this  1 

Tickler.  Answer  ! — Poo  !  poo  ! — The  dilemma  is  inevitable — he 
can  only  make  his  choice  on  which  horn  he  is  to  ride. 

Odoherty.  We  shall  see  what  he  says  for  himself  in  due  time.  He 
is  "a  cleverish  kind  of  fellow,  is  O'Meara,  and  we  must,  at  least, 
admit  that  he  has  dish'd  old  Walter  of  the  Times. 

(and  its  enclosure)  of  the  28th  ult.,  in  which  you  state  several  particulars  of  your  conduct  in 
the  situation  you  lately  held  at  St.  Helena,  and  request  "  that  their  Lordships  would,  as  soon  as 
their  important  duties  should  allow,  communicate  to  you  ttieir  judgment  thereupon.' 

"  Their  Lordships  have  lost  no  time  in  considering  your  statement  ;  and  they  command  me 
to  inform  you,  that  (even  without  reference  to  the  complaints  made  against  you  by  Lieut. 
General  Sir  H.  Lowe)  they  find  in  your  own  admissions  ample  grounds  for  marking  your  pro- 
ceedings with  their  severest  displeasure. 

"  But  there  is  one  passage  in  your  said  letter  of  such  a  nature  as  to  supersede  the  necessity 
of  animadverting  upon  any  other  part  of  it. 

"  This  passage  is  as  follows  : — '  In  the  third  interview  which  Sir  Hudson  Lowe  had  with 
Napoleon  Bonaparte  in  the  month  of  May,  1S16,  he  proposed  to  the  latter  to  send  me  away, 
and  to  replace  me  by  Mr.  Baxter,  who  had  been  several  years  surgeon  in  the  Corsican  Rangers. 
This  proposition  was  rejected  with  indignation  by  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  upon  the  grounds  of 
the  indelicacy  of  a  proposal  to  substitute  an  army  surgeon  for  the  private  surgeon  of  his  own 
choice.  Failing  in  this  attempt.  Sir  Hiidson  Lowe  adopted  the  resolution  of  manifesting 
great  confidence  in  me  by  loading  me  with  civilities,  inviting  me  constantly  to  dinner  with 
him,  conversing  for  hours  together  with  me  alone,  both  in  his'own  house  and  grounds  and  at 
Longwood,  either  in  my  own  room,  or  under  the  trees  and  elsewhere.  On  some  of  these  occa- 
sions he  made  to  me  observations  upon  the  benefit  which  would  result  to  Europe  from  the 
death  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  of  which  event  he  spoke  in  a  manner  which,  considering  his 
situation  and  mine,  was  peculiarly  distressing  to  me.' 

"  It  is  impossible  to  doubt  the  meaning  which  this  passage  was  intended  to  convey,  and  my 
Lords  can  as  little  doubt  that  the  insinuation  is  a  calumnious  falsehood;  but,  if  it  were  true, 
and  if  so  horrible  a  suggestion  were  made  to  you,  directly  or  indirectly,  it  was  your  bounden 
duty  not  to  have  lost  a  moment  in  communicating  it  to  the  Admiral  on  the  spot,  or  to  the 
Secretary  of  State,  or  to  their  Lordships. 

"An  overture  so  monstrous  in  itself,  and  so  deeply  involving  not  merely  the  personal 
character  of  the  Governor,  but  the  honor  of  the  nation,  and  to  the  important  interests  com- 
mitted to  his  charge,  should  not  have  been  reserved  in  your  own  breast  for  two  years,  to  be 
produced  at  last,  not  (as  it  would  appear)  from  a  sense  of  public  duty,  but  in  furtherance  of 
your  personal  hostility  against  the  Governor. 

"Either  the  charge  is  in  the  last  degree  false  and  calumnious,  or  you  can  have  no  possible 
excuse  for  having  hitherto  suppressed  it. 

"  In  cither  case,  and  without  adverting  to  the  general  tenor  of  your  conduct,  as  stated  in 
your  letter,  my  Lords  consider  you  to  be  an  improper  person  to  continue  in  his  Majesty's  ser- 
vice, and  they  have  directed  your  name  to  be  erased  from  the  list  of  Naval  Surgeons  accord- 
ingly. I  have.  &c,,  (Signed)  J.  W.  Croker. 

"  Mr.  O'Meaka,  28  Chester  Place,  Kensington." 


268 


NOCTES   AMBROSIANiE. 


[Dec. 


Tickler.  Not  much  to  brag  of,  that,  if  he  had  done  it, — but  I 
doubt  the  fact. 

Odoherty.  Well,  well,  as  Samuel  Johnson  said,  "  Tis  no  great 
object  to  arrange  the  precedence  between  a  louse  and  a  flea." 

Blackwood.  All  I  say  is,  that  the  more  the  book  is  abused,  the 
better  it  sells.  I  think  there  is  never  an  hour  but  I  hear  it  called 
for.     It  has  had  as  great  a  run  as  the  Cook's  Oracle  ever  had. 

North.  I'll  lend  you  the  book,  however,  old  Hogg. 

Hogg.  Thank  ye,  sir;  after  a'  you're  the  discreetest  of  your  divan, 
and  I'll  sing  ye  a  sang  for  you're  civility. 

Kempferhausen,  Bravo  !  Colonel,  sing,  sing — hurra !  hurra ! 
hurra ! 

Hogg  (sings.) 

Air — Lively. 


'im^mm 


-N— N— N 


jtzit: 


sair  -  ly  may  I        rue  the  day  I     fan-cied  first  the  women-kind,  For 


I^PBe^§^^^ 


aye     sin  -  syne    I     ne'er     can     ha'e   A  qui   -   et  thought  or  peace  o'  mind 


Ll=?=* 


^i53|^ 


They  ha'e  plagued  my  heart,  and  pleased  my  e'e,  And  teased  and  flat  -  tered 


:ti^£5 


P 


me       at   will ;  But  aye,  for 

CHORUS, 


f^ 


V— 


their  witcherye,       The  paw  -  Ky  things,  I 


m 


^^ 


^t 


^=z^=^t^ 


lo'e  them  still.    0      the     wo  -  men     folk,   O      the     wo  -  men     folk,    But 
.^ s— ^^a s— r#---^ 


:feE^-.^^ 


I 


they  ha'e    been 


lit: 


#- — » 


the  wreck  o'       me !      0         wea  -  ry      fa'       the 


wo  -  men     folk,  For  they  win  -  na        let  a         bo  -    dy      be. 

I've  thought,  au'  thought,  but  davua  tell ; 
I've  studied  them  wi'  a'  my  skill ; 


1822.] 


THE   WOMEN    FOLK. 


269 


I've  loe'd  them  better  than  mysel' ; 

Tve  tried  again  to  like  them  ill. 
"Wha  sairest  strives,  will  sairest  rue, 

To  comprehend  what  nae  man  can : 
"When  he  has  done  what  man  can  do, 

He'll  end  at  last  where  he  began. 

0,  the  women  folk,  <fec. 

That  they  hae  gentle  forms,  and  meet, 

A  man  wi'  half  a  look  may  see. 
An'  gracefu'  airs,,  and  faces  sweet, 

An'  wavin  curls  aboon  the  bree — 
Aq'  smiles  as  saft  as  the  young  rosebud, 

An'  een  sae  pawky  bright  and  rare, 
Wad  lure  the  lavrock  frae  the  clud ; 

But,  laddie,  seek  to  ken  nae  mair. 

O,  the  women  folk,  <fec. 

Even  but  this  night,  nae  farther  gane. 

The  date  is  nouther  lost  nor  lang, 
I  tak'  ye  witness  ilka  ane. 

How  fell  they  fought,  an'  fairly  dang ; 
Their  point  they've  carried  right  or  wrang. 

Without  a  reason,  rhyme,  or  law. 
An'  forced  a  man  to  sing  a  sang, 

That  ne'er  could  sing  a  verse  ava. 

O,  the  women  folk,  &q. 

TicMer.  Well  done,  kind  Shepherd ;  I  do  love  to  hear  your  voice 
once  more.  Oh !  Hogg,  those  were  charming  times  when  you  used 
to  pop  in  upon  me  of  an  evening  after  the  chain  was  on  the  door,  and 
practise  the  fiddle  till  the  cattle  danced  upon  the  meadow. 

Hogg.  Hoh !  sirs,  we're  a'  turnin'  auld  noo  :  we've  seen  our  best 
days,  my  dear  Mr.  Tickler. 

Odoherty.  Come,  come,  none  of  your  humdrum  sentiment  here, 
my  hearties.  I  will  sing  you  a  song  I  heard  last  year  on  board 
a  74 — it  was  sung  by  its  author,  the  surgeon  of  the  vessel — a 
choice  lad. 

North.  What  is  it  about  % 

Odoherty.  I  don't  recollect  the  words  exactly,  but  I's  give  you 
something  to  the  same  tune,  and  similar  in  its  scope  and  tendency, 
(ut  cum  Macveio  loquar.)  But  you  must  be  all  ready  with  a  chorus, 
mind  that — 

Odoherty  {sings.) 


Let  wit  and  wag-ge-ry,  joy  and  jol  -  li  -  ty.  Be   the  or  -  der,  boys,  of  the 


H^f-f' 


E^ 


t 


^ 


— '. — -^t. 


■*Xt2. 


i^ 


P^ 


night.    Is     not     our  wine  of     the  prim-est     qua  -  li  -   ty  ?  Are   not    our 


37^ 


noct.es  ambrosian^. 


.[Dec. 


I^^ipg 


hearts  and  our  spi  -  rits  light  ?  Cho-rus  my  song  then,  joy-ous  -ly  cho  -  rus  it 


P^^^^^m^^m 


Why  should  we     look  dull     or        blue  1     There  are    some  mo  -  ments  of 


^=F=^ 


:4^ 


— i^- 


^^^11 


plea  -  sure  be  -  fore   us     yet.  Fol    de   rol     tol     de    rol  lol    de   rol     loo. 

2. 

He  who  of  tax  or  tythe  is  gabbling — 

Mark  him  down  for  a  Jeremy  Ben ; — * 
Or  account  him  a  blockhead  babbling, 
As  great  a  blockhead  as  Council  Ten. 

Tickler.  Council  Ten  !     "Who  is  that,  in  the  name  of  Grub-street  1 

Odoherty.  An  ass. — (Sings.) — Chorus  my- 

Hogg.  I  never  heard  of  him. 

Odoherty.  Of  course  not ;  but  don't  interrupt  the  song.     Tchorus, 
&»■  Mulligan  has  it.     (Sings.)     Chorus  my  song  then,  &c. 

3 

He  who  prates  of  Reform  in  Parliament, 

Send  him  adrift  to  the  right  or  left, — 
Why  need  we  care  what  the  big  whig  Charleyf  meant — 

Whether  'twas  treason,  or  only  theft  ? — 

Chorus  my  song,  &g. 

4. 
He  who'd  bore  us  with  jabber  critical. 

On  your  curst  scribes  of  verse  or  prose  ; — 
Turn  him  loose  with  the  ass  political ; — 

I  never  would  wish  to  get  drunk  with  those. 

Chorus  my  song,  <fec. 

5. 

Better  it  is  to  toast  our  pretty  ones — 

To  chaunt — or  chorus  while  others  sing  ; — 
To  laugh  at  dull  men — and  laugh  with  witty  ones ; 
Or  drink  the  health  of  our  own  dear  King.  ♦ 

Chorus  my  song  then,  joyously  chorus  it ; 

Why  should  we  look  dull  or  blue  ? 
There  are  some  moments  of  pleasure  before  us  yet. 
Folderol,  tolderol,  lolderol,  loo  ! 

Bogg,  {coughing.)  Hoh !  hoh  ! — I'll  be  as  hoarse  as  as  a  cuddle  for 

♦  Bentham.— M.  t  Charles  James  Fox.— M. 


1822.J 


HOOK   AND   MOOKE.  271 


a  week  after  this  wark.     And  div  ye  no  find  that  sangs  maks  a  body 
fou  as  soon  as  whisky  1 

Odoherty.  Yes — when  they  act  kindly  together,  like  Wellington 
and  Blucher,  I  confess  these  affairs  have  an  exhilarating  scope  and 
tendency. 

Hogg.  I  wush  Mr.  Canning  wad  let  down  the  tax  on  the  sma' 
stells.  A  man  like  him  should  be  aboon  garrin'  sae  mony  folk  sip 
poishon  night  and  morn. 

North.  I  believe  the  Highlands  have  not  yet  been  included  in  the 
Foreign  Department ;  but  Mr.  Peel  was  here  with  the  King,  you 
know,  and  he  must  have  tasted  good  Glenlivet  himself,  I  should 
suppose. 

Tickler.  I  beg  leave  to  crave  a  bumper — Mr.  Canning  ! 

Omnes.  Mr.  Canning !!!!!!!!! 

North.  Yes,  indeed,  Canning  is  the  man  to  carry  the  country  with 
him. 

Hogg.  Is  it  not  a  very  grand  thing  to  be  set  as  he  has  been  at  the 
head  of  things,  just  as  it  were  by  a  kind  of  an  acclamation  % — no 
doubting,  nor  donnering ; — every  body  just  agreeing  that  he's  the 
grandest  statesman,  and  the  maist  glorious  orator  of  the  time. 

North.  I  hope  he  will  give  himself  the  trouble  to  spend  about  three 
minutes  apiece  this  Session  upon  little  Grey  Bennet,  Lord  Archibald 
Hamilton,  and  Jamie  Abercrombie ;  for  I'm  really  getting  sick  of 
these  prosers. 

Tickler.  How  despicable  is  Bennet's  persecution  of  Theodore  Hook. 
Lord  !  had  Hook  been  a  Whig,  like  Tom  Moore,  how  little  we  should 
have  heard  of  all  this. 

North.  Why,  to  be  sure.  Hook  and  Moore  stand  precisely  in  the 
same  situation — both  of  them  clever  men, — both  of  them  wits, — 
both  of  them  sent  out  to  manage  Colonial  matters, — both  of  them 
meeting  with  queerish  underlings, — both  of  their  underlings  cutting 
their  throats  on  detection — and  then  both  of  them  deprived  of  their 
offices,  and  in  arrear  to  the  public,  not  through  any  purloining  of 
their  own,  but  through  circumstances  which  every  one  must  regret  as 
much  as  themselves. 

Tickler.  Aye,  but  here  stops  the  parallel.  Mr.  Moore  is  pitied  by 
every  body,  and  no  Tory  ever  alluded,  or  will  allude,  to  his  misfor- 
tunes in  the  House ;  while  Mr.  Hook  is,  week  after  week,  and  year 
after  year,  made  the  subject  of  attack  by  all  that  contemptible  fry  of 
the  Bennets,  Humes,  and  so  forth. 

North.  And  you  think  he  would  have  been  in  smoother  water  if 
he  had  been  a  Whig  ? 

Tickler.  I  do. — Only  look  at  their  protection  and  prone-m^  of  such 
a  fellow  as  Borthwick,*  a  person  who,  according  to  his  own  story, 

•  One  of  the  persons  connected  with  the  Beacon  and  Glasgow  Sentinel  newspapers,  just  then 
in  very  bad  odor,  in  the  law  courts,  from  the  number  of  libel  suits  against  them. — M. 


272  NOCTES  AMBEOSIAN^.  [Dec. 

betrayed  all  manner  of  confidence,  which  he  himself  had  solicited 
with  ail  manner  of  solemnity,  for  the  sake  of  a  few  paltry  pounds, 
or  rather  for  the  sake  of  avoiding  a  day's  work  in  the  Jury  Court 
— where,  after  all,  he  might  probably  have  been  let  off  for  a  shilling. 
Jiist  think  of  a  gentlemen  like  James  Abercrombie  taking  up  with 
such  a  creature — 

North.  And  all  in  the  silly  and  absurd  hope  of  giving  a  little 
annoyance  to  the  very  people  who  ennobled  his  own  family  but  (for 
which  he  would  have  been  Nobody)  about  twenty  years  ago — no 
more. 

Tickler.  Have  you  seen  Alexander's  pamphlet '? 

North,  Not  yet — Is  there  any  thing  new  in  it  1 

Tickler.  Why,  after  all,  it  turns  out  that  the  Lord  Advocate's  sig- 
nature, which  they  make  such  a  work  about,  was  a  forgery. 

North.  Very  likely  ;  1  think  that's  not  by  any  means  the  most 
heinous  of  all  the  tricks  they've  been  guilty  of.     But  who  forged  if? 

Tickler.  Alexander  does  not  say  who,  but  he  states  the  fact 
broadly.* 

Odoherty.  John  Bull,  who  has  eyes  everywhere,  ought  to  take 
it  up. 

North.  Why,  Bull  seldom  meddles  with  Scotch  affairs  ;  and,  after 
all,  the  scent  of  that  humbug  has  got  cold  as  charity. 

Tickler.  By-the-by,  what  an  absurd  thing  it  is  that  there  should  not 
be  something  better  here  in  Edinburgh  in  the  shape  of  a  Newspaper — 
Ballantyne's  Journal  is  nothing.  . 

North.  Oh!  'tis  very  well  for  the  theatricals,  very  well  indeed; 
and  now  and  then  it  contains  good  sensible  business  articles  too  ;  but 
whenever  there  comes  any  thing  like  a  political  question  of  import- 
ance, nobody  can  say,  a  priori,  whether  James  Ballantyne  is  like  to 
take  the  best  possible  view  of  the  matter,  or  the  worst  possible  one. 
He  behaved  like  a  very  goose  about  the  Manchester  affair  ;  and,  upon 
the  whole,  'tis  an  inconsistent  concern — hot  and  cold  is  not  the  thing 
for  me. 

Odoherty.  Stick  it  into  the  hero  ; — but  after  all,  he's  the  best. 

Tickler  Bad's  the  best ;  but,  perhaps,  Edinburgh  is  not  a  good 
place  for  a  smart  paper — too  narrow  and  limited — people  all  egg- 
shells— damned  stupid  people  too — all  taken  up  with  their  own  little 
jokes,  that  are  unintelligible  when  you  pass  Cramond  Bridge. 

Odoherty.  The  Beacon,  for  example,  what  a  lump  of  dulness  it 
was !  It  seemed  to  me  to  be  got  up  just  for  the  private  amusement 
of  three  or  four  spalpeens. 

*  The  pamphlet  as  entitled.  "  Letters  to  Sir  J.  Mackintosh,  Knt.  M.  P.  Explanatory  of  the 
■whole  circumstances  which  led  to  the  robbery  of  the  Glasgow  Sentinel  Office,  to  the  Death  of 
Sir  Alexander  Boswell,  Bart;  and  the  Trial  [June  10,  18-2-2]  of  Mr.  James  Stuart,  younger,  of 
Dunearn  ;  and  ultimately  to  the  Animadversions  of  the  Hon  .  James  Abercromby,  in  the  House 
of  Commons,  upon  the  conduct  of  the  Right  Hon.  the  Lord  Advocate,  and  various  individuals. 
By  Robert  Alexander,  Editor  of  the  Glasgow  Sentinel."— M. 


1822.]  "  THE  BEACON."  2Y3 

Hogg.  Puir  callants,  nae  doubt  they  boud  to  hae  their  am  bit 
cackle  in  a  corner — let  them  abee. 

Odoherty.  Now  what  a  proper  name  Beacon  was.  By  the  holy 
poker,  a  mangy  mongrel  could  not  have  lifted  his  leg,  in  passing, 
without  putting  it  out. 

Tickler.  A  fine  thing  for  the  lawyers,  however. 

Odoherty  (sings.) 

"  Ye  lawyers  so  just, 
Be  the  cause  what  it  will,  who  so  famously  plead — 

How  worthy  of  trust ! 

You  know  black  from  white — 

You  prefer  wrong  to  right, 
As  you  chance  to  be  feed. 

Leave  musty  reports. 

And  forsake  the  King's  courts, 
"Wliere  Dulness  and  Discord  have  set  up  their  thrones ; 

Burn  Salkeld  and  Ventris, 

With  all  your  damn'd  entries. 
,    Hark,  away  to  the  claret !  a  bumper,  'Squire  Jones." 

\^An  accident  in  the  gas-pipes. 


12* 


No.  VII.— MARCH,  1823. 

Sederunt — Christopher  North,  Esq.,  Chairman;  Timothy  Tick- 
ler, Esq.,  Croupier;  Morgan  Odoherty,  Esq.,  James  Hooa,  Esq., 

&c.,  &;c. 

SCENE — The  Blue  Room — the  Table  crowded  with  Bottles^  Pitchers, 
Devils,  Books,  Pamphlets,  c6c. 

Time — One  in  the  Morning. 

Sogg  {proloquitur.)  It's  just  needless  for  you  to  deny  't,  mon;  it 
was  a  real  bad  number.  An  binna  my  ain  bit  paper  on  Captain 
Napier,*  there  was  naething  worth  speaking  o'  1  What  were  ye  a' 
about  % 

Odoherty.  I  was  in  quod — hang  it,  they  say  John  Bunyan  and 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh  wrote  books  there,  but  my  spirits  always  sink. 

Hogg.  And  wha  brought  ye  out  ? 

Tickler.  Poo  !  poo  !  he  took  the  benefit  of  the  cessio  as  usual. 

North.  I'm  sure  if  he  would  but  exert  himself,  he  need  never  be 
in  any  such  scrapes  ;  but  I'm  weary  of  speaking.     Confound 

Hogg  {aside  to  the  Adjutant.)  Never  heed,  he'll  mind  you  in  his 
wull  for  a'  that — his  bark  was  aye  waur  than  his  bite. 

Odoherty.  N'importe  !  Here  I  am  once  more.  I'll  be  cursed  if  I 
don't  marry  a  dowager  ere  the  next  month  is  over.  How  well  it 
will  look — "  At  her  Ladyship's  house,  by  special  license,  Morgan 
Odoherty,  Esq.,  to  Lady !" 

Tickler.  "Do  or  die,"  is  the  ward  with  you,  it  would  appear. 
Well,  you  had  better  'get  a  Highland  garb  without  delay.  Nothing 
to  be  done  sans  kilt  now,  sir.  Even  "  legs  and  impudence  "  won't 
go  down  unless  in  pur  is. 

Odoherty.  Did  you  see  Hogg  the  day  of  the  Celtic  cattle-show  ? 
I  am  told  he  looked  nobly. 

Tickler.  Yes,  indeed.  Hogg  makes  a  very  fine  savage.  He  was 
all  over  in  a  bristle  with  dirk,  claymore,  eagle's  feather,  tooth, 
whisker,  pistol  and  powder-horn.  His  ears  were  erect,  his  eyebrow 
indignant,  his  hands  were  hairy,  his  hurdles  were  horrible,  his  tread 

•  This  was  entitled  "The  Honorable  Captain  Napier  and  Ettrick  Forest,"  and  -was  a  notice 
of  "  Napier's  Treatise  on  Practical  Store-Farming,  as  applicable  to  the  Mountainous  Region 
of  Ettrick  Forest,"  &c.  Truth  to  say,  it  was  a  strong  puff  of  the  Captain— the  same  who, 
when  Lord  Napier,  died  in  China,  in  1834.— M. 


1823.]  beodie's  execution.  275 

was  terrific.  I  met  him  even  where  our  merchants  most  do  congre- 
gate, at  the  Cross,  and  truly  he  had  the  crown  of  the  causeway  all  to 
himself. 

Odoherty.  Had  you  your  tail  on,  Clanhogg  % 

Hogg.  Ye  ill-tongued  dyvour.*  But  what's  the  use  o'  argufying 
wi' the  like  o' you  ? — i^Sings.) 

Knees  an'  elbows,  and  a', 
Elbows  and  knees,  and  a' ; 
Here's  to  Donald  Maedonald, 
Stanes  an'  bullets,  an'  a' ! 

North.  Ay,  ay,  Jemmy,  that's  the  way  to  take  it ;  but  I'm  sorry 
you  thought  it  a  bad  Number.  I  should  have  supposed  that  its  con- 
taining a  touch  of  your  own  would  have  been  enough  to  save  it  with 
you,  at  least,  and  the  rest  of  the  Ettrick  lads. 

Tickler.  You  deceive  yourself,  editor. 

North.  Nay,  Tickler,  I  know  what  you  mean.  Upon  my  word,  I 
shall  insert  that  thing  of  yours  very  soon ;  don't  be  so  very  im- 
patient. 

Tickler.  What,  you  old  quiz!  do  you  suppose  I  was  angry  at 
your  omitting  my  little  production  ?  You  may  kick  it  behind  the 
fire  for  what  I  care,  I  assure  you  of  that,  sir. 

North.  Not  so  fast,  Timotheus ;  but  what  was  your  chief  objec- 
tion % 

Tickler.  That  shocking,  that  atrocious  lie,  about  Brodie — or  rathei', 
I  should  say,  that  bundle  of  lies.f 

Odoherty.  I  wrote  it.     'Ware  candlesticks. 

Hogg.  Hand  your  haund  there.  Hoot,  hoot,  sirs ;  the  present 
company  are  always  excepted,  ye  ken. 

Omnes.  Agreed  !     Agreed  ! 

Tickler.  I  disdain  all  personality,  but  that  paragraph  was  full  of 
shocking  mis-statements.  The  fact  is,  I  saw  Brodie  hanged,  and  he 
had  no  silver  tube  in  his  windpipe,  and  no  flowered  waistcoat  on.  It 
is  true  that  he  sent  for  a  doctor  to  ask  if  there  was  any  probability  of 
escaping  with  life,  but  Degravers  told  him  at  once,  sir,  that  he  would 
be  "  as  dead  as  Julius  Csesar  ;"  these  were  the  words.  But  Brodie 
would  hold  his  own  opinion  ;  and  nobody  e'er  threw  down  the  pocket 
handkerchief  more  assured  of  resuscitation.  Poor  devil !  he  just 
spun  round  a  few  times,  and  then  hung  as  quiet  as  you  please,  with 
his  pigtail  looking  up  to  heaven. 

*  Dyvour — a  debtor  who  cannot  pay. — M. 

t  In  Blackwood,  for  February,  1S23,  was  a  review  of  D'Israeli's  Curiosities  of  Literature,  in 
which,  noticing  the  fact  that  the  Earl  of  Morton  died  by  the  Maiden,  which  he  introduced 
into  Scotland,  the  critic  affirmed  that  Deacon  Brodie,  who  had  been  hanged  (off  a  drop  of  his 
own  invention)  for  robbing  the  Excise  Office- at  Edinburgh,  thirty  years  before,  actually  was 
executed  with  a  silver  tube  in  his  windpipe, — but  that  all  attempts  to  re-animate  his  body 
were  fruitless.  The  reviewer  said,  "  We  have  reason  to  say  we  know  this,  for  we  are  old 
enough  to  have  often  talked  with  the  surgeon  who  was  present  when  the  experiment  was 
made."— M. 


276  NOOTES   AMBROSIAN^.  [March, 

Odoherty.  Alas !  p  r  Brodie  ! — To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  wished  to 
hum  D'Israeli  a  little. 

North.  Pleasant,  but  wrong  !     For  shame  upon  all  humming  ! 

Odoherty.  Farewell ! — a  long  farewell  to  all  our  Noctes. 

Hogg.  Ye  mak  mair  trumpeting  about  a  collector  chiel,  like  D'Is- 
raeli, than  mony  a  man  of  original  genius  and  invention.  YeVe 
never  reviewed  my  "  Three  Perils  of  Man"  yet. 

North.  The  more  shame  to  me,  I  confess;  but  wait  till  the  "  Three 
Perils  of  Woman"  appear,  and  then  we'll  marry  them  together  in 
one  immortal  article. 

Odoherty.  What,  then,  are  "  The  Three  Perils  of  Woman  f  I 
think,  "  The  Three  Perils  of  Man"  were,  according  to  our  kilted  clas- 
sic, "  Women,  War,  and  Witchcraft." 

Hogg.  Aye  ware  they — but  faith,  guess  for  yoursell,  my  cock.  I 
ance  told  ane  of  you  the  name  of  a  book  I  was  on,  and  ye  had  ane 
wi'  the  same  name  out  or  I  had  won  to  my  second  volume. 

North.  Horrid  usage  for  a  man  of  original  genius  and  invention. 
But,  let's  see,  I  think  you  should  make  them,  "  Man,  Malmsey,  and 
Methodism." 

Mr.  TicMer.  Or,  what  say  ye  to  "  Ribbons,  Rakes,  and  Ratafie  f 

North.  "  Flattery,  Flirting,  and  Philabegs  f     Three  F's,  Hogg. 

Hogg.  Weel,  I  thought  of  some  o'  thae  very  anes.  I  thought  of 
"  Kirns,  Kirkings,  and  Christenings,"  too  ;  and  then  I  thought  of 
"  Dreams,  Drams,  and  Dragoons" — but  I  fixed  at  last  on  three  L's. 

Odoherty.  "  Legs,  Lace,  and  Lies  ?" 

Hogg.  Na,  na,  you're  a'  out.     "  Love,  Learning,  and  Laziness." 

Odoherty.  O,  most  lame  and  impotent  conclusion  !  But  no  doubt, 
you'll  make  it  rich  enough  in  the  details.  Your  "  Love"  will  no 
doubt  end  in  the  cutty  stool;  your  "  Learning,"  in  Constable's  Maga- 
zine ;  and  your  "  Laziness,"  in  Black  Stockings.  Thus  we  shall  have 
an  imposing  and  instructive  view  of  life  and  society. 

Hogg.  If  ye  say  another  word,  I'll  dedicate  the  bulk  to  you.  Captain. 

Odoherty.  Do.     I  always  repay  a  dedication  with  a  puff. 

Hogg.  Yon  D'Israeli  chap  dedicated  to  you,  I'se  warrant? 

Odoherty.  In  writing  the  tale  of  "  Learning,"  (for,  if  I  understand 
you  rightly,  there  are  to  be  three  separate  tales,)  I  beg  of  you  to 
imitate,  above  all  other  novel  writers,  my  illustrious  friend,  the 
Viscount  D'Arlincourt.* 

Hogg.  Arlincoor,  say  ye  1  Wait  till  I  get  out  my  kielevine  pen. 
Od  !  I  never  heard  tell  of  him  afore. 

Odoherty.  For  shame  !  "  Not  to  know  him."  (ShaJcspeare.)  In 
a  word,  however,  my  worthy  friend,  he  is  the  greatest  genius  of  the 
age.  If  you  doubt  what  I  say,  I  refer  you  to  Sir  Richard  Phillips. 
I  think  I  see  him  lying  there  beside  the  head  of  North's  crutch. 

*  A  modern  French  novelist.— M. 


1823.]  VISCOUNT  d'aelincotjet.  277 

North.  (^Handing  the  Old  Monthly  to  the  Ensign.)  There  is  the 
production. 

Odoherty.  Ay,  and  here's  the  puff.  "  This  is  the  work  of  a  man 
of  genius,  and  the  translation  has  fallen  into  very  competent  hands." 
Need  I  read  any  more  of  Sir  Pythagoras  % 

Hogg.  Oh,  no.  But  what  is't  ye  wad  have  me  particularly  to 
keep  an  ee  upon '?  Troth,  I  wad  be  nane  the  waur  of  a  hint  or  twa 
to  help  me  on  with  the  sklate. 

Odoherty.  'Tis  more  especially  in  the  tale  "  Learning,"  that  I  ven- 
ture to  solicit  your  attention  to  my  noble  friend's  works.  He  is  the 
most  learned  novelist  of  our  era.  Follow  him,  and  you  will  please 
Macvey  himself 

Hogg.  Weel,  let's  hear  a  wee  bit  skreed  o'  him.  I  daresay  Mr. 
North  will  hae  him  yonder  amang  the  lave,  beside  his  stult.  Sauf 
us  !  the  very  table's  groaning  wi'  sae  mony  new  authors. 

North.  You  may  say  so,  truly  ;  and  I  groan  as  well  as  my  table. 
Here's  "  The  Renegade,"  however.     "Will  that  do,  Odoherty  % 

Odoherty.  Yes,  yes— any  of  them  will  do.  You  see,  Hogg,  the 
noble  author  plunges  us  at  once  into  the  deepest  interest  of  his  tale. 
An  invading  army  of  Saracens  carries  ruin  and  horror  into  the  hills 
of  the  Cevennes.  A  Princess,  the  heroine  of  the  book,  is  driven 
from  her  paternal  halls — she  flies  with  her  vassals — the  black  flag 
of  Agobar  floats  awful  on  the  breeze — all  alarm,  terror,  dismay, 
desolation — 

Hogg.  That's  real  good.  I'll  begin  my  "  Laziness,"  wi'  an  inva- 
sion too. 

Odoherty.  Certainly — and  now  attend  to  this  illustrious  author's 
style,  for  it  is  that  I  wish  you  to  copy,  my  dear  Hogg.  Hear  this 
passage,  and  thirst  for  geology.  You  understand  that  the  descrip- 
tion refers  to  a  moment  of  the  deepest  and  the  most  overwhelming 
emotion — our  Princess  is  in  full  flight,  the  hall  of  her  ancestors  bla- 
zing behind  her — 

"  While  tbe  Princess,  borne  on  her  gentle  palfrey,  abandoned  herself  to  these 
sad  thoughts,  Lutevia,  at  a  turn  of  the  rock,  again  presented  itself  to  her  view. 
Lighted  torches  were  seen  to  glance  here  and  there  upon  the  platforms  of  the 
castle.  These  moving  lights,  the  signal  of  some  new  event,  announced  a  tumult- 
uous agitation  among  the  soldiery.  The  fatal  bell  again  was  heard,  Ezilda  could 
doubt  no  longer  that  the  Saracens  had  attacked  the  fortress.  She  immediately 
struck  into  the  depths  of  the  mountains.  The  bright  stars  directed  her  march,  as 
she  pursued  an  unfrequented  road  across  untrod  rocks,  and  by  the  edges  of  preci- 
pices. At  every  step  Nature  presented  inexplicable  horrors,  produced  by  the 
various  revolutions  which  had  acted  upon  thin  region.  In  one  place  were  seen 
streams  of  "  basaltic  lava,  thick  beds  of  red  pozzolanum,  calcareous  spars,  aud 
gilded  pyrites,  thrown  out  by  the  numerous  volcanoes.  In  another,  strange  con- 
trast !  the  ravages  of  water  had  succeeded  to  those  of  Jire  ;  transparent  petrifac- 
tions, marine  shells,  sonorous  congelations,  sparkling  scorioe,  and  crystallized 
prisms,  were  mixed  accidentally  with  the  confused  works  of  differe7it  regions.    A 


278  ■  NOCTES  AMBROSIAIT^.  [March, 

crater  had  become  a  lake  ;  an  ancient  bed  of  flames,  a  cascade  ;  the  waves  of  the 
ocean  had  driven  back  tlie  blazing  volcanoes,  had  placed  tlie  peaks  of  mountains 
■where  their  bases  had  been,  and  had  rolled  'pele  mele,  zeolites  and  silices,  cinders 
and  cri/sla/s,  stalactites  and  tripoli ! !  !  From  a  reversed  cone  covered  with  snow, 
and  which  contained  freezing  springs,  boiling  waters  spouted.  In  the  dark  ages, 
it  would  have  seemed  that  the  two  terrific  genii  of  devastation,  fire  and  flood, 
had  contended ;  and  as  the  mysteries  of  Providence  put  to  fault  the  reason  of 
the  philosopher,  these  mysteries  of  nature  embarrassed  all  the  systems  of  the 
learned. 

"  The  heavens  were  covered  with  clouds,  a  small  rain  had  begun  to  fall,  and 
each  step  had  become  more  perilous  ;  the  narrow  road  cut  in  the  rock  seemed  to 
ofi^er  only  a  succession  of  precipices. 

"  After  some  hours'  journey,  the  Princess  approached  a  torrent,  whose  waters 
thundered  between  a  double  colonnade  of  basaltic  pillars.  At  the  bottom  of  a 
glen,  which  seemed  almost  inaccessible,  the  road  enlarged.  Upon  a  barren  flat, 
surrounded  by  pointed  rocks  and  enormous  calcareous  stones,  the  virgin  of  Lutevia 
perceived  a  sort  of  wild  camp,  lighted  by  scattered  fires.  Terror  was  a  stranger 
to  her  soul,  and  believing  that  she  was  covered  by  the  buckler  of  the  Lord,  and 
that  her  path  through  life  was  to  be  marked  by  frightful  events,  Ezilda  was  re- 
signed to  her  stormy  destiny  ! ! !" 

Hogg.  Oh  man,  that's  awfu'  grand  ;  thae  lang  words  gie  siccan  an 
air  to  the  delineation.  I  dare  say  some  o'  the  bonny  words  would. 
suit  very  well  in  my  "  Learning."  Will  you  lend  me  the  bulk,  Mr. 
North  1 

North.  Say  no  more.     The  volumes  are  thine  own. 

Hogg.  Thank  ye  kindly,  sir.  Od,  I'll  gut  this  chiel  or  lang  be.  I 
wonder  what  Gray  will  think  of  me  1  But  I'll  easily  bam  him,  noo 
he's  ower  the  water.* 

Odoherty.  Ay,  here's  another  prime  morceau.  'Tis  a  description, 
you  are  to  suppose,  of  a  grotto  where  a  love  adventure  goes  on. 

"  This  celebrated  grotto  was  sunk  in  the  base  of  a  misshapen  and  rugged  rock. 
Its  peak  had  been  a  volcano ;  its  arid  summit,  scorched  by  its  eruptions,  covered 
with  black  lava,yreen  schorl,  metallic  molliculi,\fith.  calcined  and vitrijied substances, 
bore  in  every  part  the  destructive  marks  oi  fire ;  while  the  sunken  earth,  the 
schistous  stones,  the  beds  of  mud,  the  irregular  mixture  of  volcanic  with  marine 
productions,  and  the  regular  piles  of  basaltic  prisms,  were  evidences  of  the  opera- 
tion of  contending  elements." 

Hogg.  "  Evidences  of  the  operations  of  contending  elements  !"  It's 
perfectly  sublime.     It  dings  Kilmeny — na,  it  clean  dings  her ! 

North.  Nil  desperandum!     Spout  us  a  bit  more,  Odoherty. 

Hogg.  Speak  weel  out.  Captain — gie  yoursel  breath. 

Odoherty.  Eead  yourself,  Hogg  ;  there's  a  fine  place. 

Hogg.  Na,  wha  ever  saw  the  like  o't — Ze-ze-ze-oleet — Montlos — 
Girand — Salaberry — ^berry.  Ay,  it's  just  Salaberry.  Od,  this  is 
worse  than  the  Eleventh  of  Nehemiah. 

Odoherty.  Poo !  You're  at  the  notes.  Let  me  see  the  book  again. 
Did  you  ever  describe  a  handsome  fellow,  Hogg  ?     Well,  hear  how 

♦  In  Canada.— M. 


1823.]  HOGG,  "  WATEELOO."  279 

this  virgin  Princess  here  describes  one  she  saw  sleeping  in  his  own 
bed-room,  to  which  she  had  penetrated.  "  His  chest,"  said  she,  "his 
chest  half-bared,  white  as  the  marble  of  Paros,  was  like  that  of  the 
athletic  Crotona.  As  vigorous  as  the  Conqueror  of  the  Minotaur,  as 
colossal  as  the  Grecian  Ajax,  as  beautiful  as  the  Antinous  of  the 
Komans . 

North.  Stop,  stop ;  fold  up  the  bedclothes  again,  if  you  please. 
Upon  my  word,  this  is  worse  than  Sophy  Western  and  Mrs.  Honour 
about  Tom  Jones's  broken  arm. 

Hogg.  My  gudeness  !  This  is  just  the  book  I  wanted.  Od,  I'll 
come  braw  speed  noo. 

Odoherty.  To  be  sure  you  will.  But  a  man  of  your  stamp  should 
not  follow  with  any  servile  imitation.  No — Admire  D'Arlincourt, 
but  cease  not  to  be  Hogg. 

Hogg.  De'il  a  fears  o'  me ! 

Odoherty.  If  your  heroine  is  to  be  woo'd  about  St.  Leonards,  be 
sure  you  turn  up  Pinkerton,  or  Jameson,  and  tip  us  the  Latin  or 
German  names  of  all  the  different  strata  in  that  quarter.  It  will 
have  a  fine,  and,  in  Scotland  at  least,  a  ]iovel  effect.  If  she  climb  Ar- 
thur's Seat,  tell  us  how  the  thermometer  stood  when  she  was  kissed 
at  the  top.  If  there  is  a  shower  on  her  wedding  night,  take  a  note 
of  the  cubic  inches  that  fell.  If  her  petticoat  be  stained  with  green, 
tip  us  the  Linnasan  description  of  the  grass.  And  if  you  are  afraid 
of  going  wrong  in  your  science,  Mr.  Leslie  will  perhaps  look  over 
the  MS.  for  you. 

Hogg.  I'll  send  him  a  copy  of  the  second  edition ;  but  I'll  let  nae 
Professors  look  at  my  manuscripts.  Od !  I  mind  ower  weel  what 
cam  o'  my  Waterloo. 

North.  Tour  Waterloo !  God  bless  me.  Did  you  help  Mr. 
Simpson,*  then  1 

Hogg.  Ye're  a'  to  seek.  It  wasna  Jamie  Simpson's  book  I  had 
aught  to  do  wi',  (although  it  was  a  very  bonny  bit  bookie,  too.)  It 
was  a  Waterloo  o'  mine  ain,  a  poem  I  had  written,  and  I  sent  it  in 
to  Grieve  ;  and  awheen  o'  them  had  a  deimer  at  Bill  Young's,  to  read 
it  over,  forsooth.  And  od !  heard  you  ever  the  like  o'  sic  tinkler 
loons  1  they  brunt  it  bodily,  and  sent  me  a  round-robin  that  it  was 
havers— mere  havers. 

Odoherty.  Paltry,  envious  souls  !  Insensate  jealousy  !  Despica- 
ble spleen ! 

North.  KupaKsg  uc 

AKpavra  ■yapve/uev 
Aiof  zjpog  opvcda  detov. 

*  James  Simpson,  an  Edinburgh  lawyer,  published  an  interesting  account 'of  his  visit  to 
Waterloo,  in  1815.  In  the  late  editions  he  gives  some  delightful  recollections  of  Sir  Walter 
Scott.— M. 


280  NOCTES   AMBROSIANiE.  [March, 

Hogg,  Eh! 

North.  Grsecum  est. 

Odoherty.  [Sitigs,  accompanying  himself  on  the  trombone.) 

1. 

Greek  and  Latin 

Will  come  pat  in 
Our  Chaldean  Shepherd's  page. 

With  geology, 

And  petrology, 

Sans  apology, 
He,  he  alone  is  born  to  cram  cm*  age.  {bis.) 

2. 

'Tis  he  will  tickle  ye 

With  Molliculi, 
Pouzzolanum,  Schorl,  and  Schist ;  , 

'Tis  he  will  bristle, 

With  cone  and  crystal, 

His  shepherd's  whistle 
Is  now,  in  loathing  and  high  scorn,  dismist.  (bis.) 

3. 

Show  your  glory 

In  shells  and  scoriae ! 
Pour  your  lava,  drop  your  spar  1 

With  Stalactites, 

And  Pyrites, 

And  Zeolites, 
Hogg  now  will  make  thee  stare,  prodigious  Parr !  (bis.) 

When  he  prints  it  out. 

The  French  Institute 
WiU  enrol  one  Scotchman  more  ; 

How  we'll  caper, 

When  Supplement  Napier,* 

For  a  physical  paper, 
Bows  low,  nor  bows  in  vain,  by  Altrive's  shore  !  {bis.) 

5. 

Grasp  your  slate,  sir. 

Scratch  yom*  pate,  sir. 
You  must  speak — the  world  is  dumb  1 

Logic,  Rhet'ric, 

Chemic,  Metric, 

Fresh  from  Ettrick, 
With  glorious  roar,  and  deafning  deluge  come  !  {bis.) 

Hogg  (much  affected).  Gie  me  your  hand,  Captain.  Oh,  dear! 
Oh,  dear  me ! 

North.  Enough  of  this,  boys. — What  new  book  have  you-  been 
reading.  Tickler  1 

*  Macvey  Napier  edited  the  Supplement  to  the  Encyclopaedia  Britannica. — M. 


1823.] 


UGO   FOSCOLO.  281 


Tichler.  From  Hogg  to  Foscolo  the  transition  is  easy.  I  have 
been  much  gratified  with  Essays  on  Petrarch. 

Odoherty.  Fudgiolo's  new  affair  1 

Tickler.  He  must  now  drop  that  title.  'Tis  really  a  very  elegant 
volume,  full  of  facts,  full  of  fancy,  full  of  feeling, — a  very  delightful 
book,  certainly. 

North.  I  glanced  over  it.  There  seemed  to  be  a  cursed  deal  of 
Balaam,  in  the  shape  of  Appendixes,  and  so  forth. 

Tickler.  True  enough.  But  there's  sail  enough  to  do  even  with 
that  quantity  of  ballast. 

North.  Have  you  seen  a  little  volume  about  the  Spanish  affair,  by 
one  Pecchio,  a  Carbonaro  Count  from  Italy '? 

Tickler.  Not  I,  faith  ;  nor  never  will. 

North.  No,  no,  'tis  not  worth  your  seeing.  It  is  full  of  Blaquiere. 
Edward  Blaquiere,  Esq.  writes  the  preface,  and  puffs  his  excellency 
Count  Pecchio,  and  Count  Pecchio  repays  Edward  Blaquiere,  Esq. 
in  the  body  of  the  book.  It  contains,  however,  and  that's  what 
brought  it  to  my  recollection  just  now,  some  most  eulogistic  pages 
about  Ugo  Eoscolo.  Here  is  the  book,  however. — Read  for  your- 
self— [Handing  Pecchio.) 

Tickler  {as  musing.)  Ay,  my  Jacopo  Ortis  !  and  so  this  is  the 
way  you  go  on,  {reads)  "  His  cottage  is  isolated,  but  well  furnished. 
A  canal  is  near  it,  that  looks  like  the  troubled  Lethe.  One  might 
take  our  friend's  abode  for  a  hermitage,  were  it  not  for  the  two 
PRETTY  CHAMBERMAIDS  that  onc  obscrvcs  moviug  about  the  pre- 
cincts." Two  1 — Yes,  by  Jupiter,  'tis  so  in  the  bond.  Two !  O,  ye  Gods ! 

Hogg.  TwA  hizzies  ! — Less  might  serve  him,  I  fancy. 

Odoherty.  Two  !  Pretty  well  for  the  latitude  of  the  Regent's 
Park.* 

Tickler.  Well  done,  Mr.  Last  Words  !  But  these  are  your  Zante 
tricks. — "  The  isles  of  Greece  !  the  isles  of  Greece  !" 

North.  Pooh,  pooh !  Timothy,  you're  daft.  I  confess  I  regret  that 
he  should  have  been  called  Eudgiolo — for  a  man  never  finds  it  easy 
to  lose  a  nickname. 

Odoherty.  Of  my  making. 

North.  Sorrow  on  your  impudence ! — You  have  cost  many  a 
worthy  body  a  sore  heart,  in  your  time,  with  your  nicknames. 

Odoherty.  True,  O  King ! — O  King,  live  for  ever  !  • 

Hogg.  That's  just  what  I  ay  thocht.  If  Mr.  North  could  get 
his  ain  gait,  there  would  not  be  a  better-natured  book  in  a'  the 
world — it's  just  that,  lang-legged  Adjutant  that  pits  the  deeviltries 
intill't. 

Odoherty.    Hioicks !    hioicks  1 — but,  after   all,   isn't   it   odd   that 

*  Ugo  Foscolo  occupied  what  he  called  Di-Gamma  Cottage^  St.  John's  Wood,  London. 
Instead  of  two  pretty  attendants,  he  had  three  sisters,  all  of  them  very  handsome  ! — M. 


282  NOCTES    AMBROSIAKJB.  [March, 

Reviews,  &c.,  and  all  their  wit,  and  all  their  malice,  and  all  their 
hypocritical  puffing,  are  not  able  to  produce  the  smallest  effect,  good 
or  bad,  upon  the  permanent  reputation  of  any  writer.  I  confess  I 
wonder  that  this  should  be  the  case. 

North.  I  confess  I  should  wonder  if  it  were  the  case. 

Odoherty.  Aha  !  by  this  craft  he  hath  his  living ! — but  be  honest 
for  once,  Kit  North,  and  tell  me  the  name  of  that  author  that  has 
been  permanently  raised,  or  permanently  depressed,  beyond  his 
merits  by  our  periodicals  ? 

North.  Permanently  is  a  queer  word.  You  think  to  get  out  by 
that  loopliole. 

Odoherty.  Why,  do  but  think  of  things  as  they  are.  Does 
Wordsworth  stand  a  w^hit  the  lower,  for  having  been  a  general 
laughing-stock  during  twenty  long  years'? — Or  does  Jeffrey  stand 
a  whit  the  higher,  for  having  been  puffed  diH*ing  a  period  of  about 
equal  extent. 

North.  It  was  I  that  brought  up  the  one,  and  put  down  the  other 
of  them. 

Odoherty.  Huzza !  A  trumpeter  wanted  here  !  Why,  big  fellow 
as  you  think  yourself,  they  would  just  have  been  where  they  are  by 
this  time,  although  you  had  stayed  in  Barbadoes  till  this  moment. 

Hogg.  Barbaudoes  !     Was  North  in  Barbaudoes  1 

Odoherty.  Yes,  this  man  who  now  rules,  and  with  no  light  rod,  the 
empire  of  European  literature,  consumed  many  years  of  his  life 
among  the  sugar  plantations  of  the  other  hemisphere.  He  has  been 
a  jack  of  all  trades  in  his  day. 

North.  Wait,  man,  he'll  see  it  all  in  my  autobiography — which,  if 
so  please  the  fates,  shall  see  the  light 

"  Ere  twelve  times  more  yon  star  hath  filled  her  horn." 

Hogg.  Meaning  me  1 — Od,  I'll  no  be  lang  about  twal  tumblers,  if 
that's  a'  the  matter. 

Odoherty.  Ha  !  ha  !  honest  Jemmy  ! — But,  to  be  serious,  old  boy, 
who  then  is  the  man  that  hath  been  elevated  ? — who  is  he  that  hath 
in  this  sort  been  depressed  1 

North.  Why,  as  I  said  before,  you  will  creep  out  upon  your  "per- 
manently .''"' 

Odoherty.  And  you  may  say  that.  The  fact  of  the  matter,  or  ut 
cum  Josepho  Icquar^  "  the  tottle  of  the  whole,"  is,  that  all  the  criti- 
cism that  has  been  written  since  the  Flood,  might  just  as  well  have 
remained  in  non-existence.  For  example,  does  "any  one  really  dream 
that  there  slumbers  at  this  moment,  on  the  shelves  of  the  British 
Museum,  any  real  fellow  whose  works  are  not  known,  and  deserve 
to  be  known  %  Has  my  friend  D'Israeli,  or  any  of  that  tribe,  ever 
been  able  to  ferret  out  a  long-concealed  author  of  genius  ? — No,  no. 


1823.]  PUFFING  AND  FAME.  283 

Depend  on't,  my  dear,  there's  no  Swift,  nor  Pope,  nor  Gibbon,  nor 
Smollet,  nor  Milton,  nor  Warburton,  nor  Dryden,  nor  any  body 
really  worth  being  up  to,  but  what  all  the  world  is  up  to.  The  criti- 
cal bowstring  has  been  justly  applied,  or  baffled — there  is  no  third  to 
these  two  ways  of  it. 

Tickler.  I  side  with  the  Adjutant.  And  the  longer  things  go  on, 
there  will  be  but  the  more  need  for  plying  the  cord  tightly.  No  age 
ever  possessed,  nor  does  ours  for  what  I  see,  more  than  a  very  few 
great  ones  ;  and  to  smother  the  small  ones  is  but  doing  justice  to 
these  and  to  the  public. 

Odoherty.  Well  said,  Timothy.' — If  one  looks  round  among  our 
periodicals,  there  is  scarcely  one  of  them  that  is  not  laboring  away 
to  hoist  up  some  heavy  bottom.  The  Quarterly  and  the  British 
Critic  tell  us  that  Milman  is  a  mighty  poet.  The  New  Monthly 
Magazine,  and  five  or  six  inferior  books,  keep  up  a  perpetual  blast 
about  Barry  Cornwall — Waugh  winds  his  sultry  horn  for  the  glory 
of  Mrs.  Hemans — Taylor  and  Hessey  pound  the  public  with  Barton 
and  Allan  Cunningham. 

North.  Well,  and  what  do  ye  make  of  all  this  ?  Is  it  not  true, 
that  Mr.  Milman  is  a  very  elegant  and  accomplished  man,  and  that 
he  deserves  to  be  lauded  for  his  fine  verses  1  Is  it  not  true,  that 
Barry  Cornwall's  dramatic  scenes  formed  a  delightful  little  book  1 
and  ought  they  to  be  quite  forgotten,  merely  because  he  has  written 
three  or  four  confounded  trashy  ones  since  %  Is  it  not  true  that  Mrs. 
Hemans  is  a  woman  of  pretty  feeling  and  writes  sweetly '? — Is  it 
not  true  that  Bernard  Barton  and  Allan  Cunningham  are  both  of 
them  deserving  of  commendation  % 

Hogg.  Hear  !  hear  ! 

Odoherty.  The  question  is  not  whether  these  people  deserve  some 
praise,  but  whether  they  deserve  the  highest  praise — for  that  is  what 
they  get  in  the  quarters  J  have  indicated.  And  just  to  bring  you  up 
with  the  curb,  my  dear,  do  you  really  suppose  that  any  of  these 
names  will  exist  anno  eighteen  hundred  and  forty-three  *?  • 

Hogg.  The  Forty-Three's  a  long  look — heh,  me  !  we  may  a'  be 
aneath  the  moulds  by  that  time.* 

Tickler^  {dejectedly.)  The  wicked  shall  cease  from  troubling  — 
■  Hogg^  {ditto.)  And  all  their  works  shall  follow  them  — 

Odoherty.  Come,  come ;  what's  the  fun  of  all  this  ]     {Sings.) 

1. 

Time  and  we  should  swiftly  pass  ; 
He  the  hour-glass,  we  the  glass. — 
Drink !  yon  beam  which  shines  so  bi'ight 
Soon  will  sink  in  starless  night: 

Tchorus,  now,  Tchorus  — 

*  All  -were,  except  Wilson,  who  died  in  1854. — M. 


284  NOCTES  AMBROSIAN^.  [March, 

Ere  it  sink,  boys,  ere  it  sink  — 

Drink  it  dim,  boys  !  drink,  drink,  drink ! 


Drink,  before  it  be  too  late — 

Snatch  the  hour  you  may  from  fate  ; 

Here  alone  true  wisdom  lies, 

To  be  merry's  to  be  ^vise. — 

Ere  ye  sink,  boys — ere  ye  sink — 

Drink  ye  blind,  boys !  drink,  drink,  drink ! 

{Muck  applause.) 

North.  Odoherty,  Odoherty  !  I  say  you  are  an  absolute  bar  to 
business.  Which  of  you  will  give  me  an  article  on  the  last  Number 
of  the  Quarterly  Review  ? 

Hogg.  I  write  in  The  Quarterly  myself  now  and  then,  sae,  if  you 
please,  I  would  rather  it  fell  to  the  Captain's  hand. 

Odoherty.  Well,  I  like  that  notion — as  if  I  had  not  written  in 
every  periodical  under  the  sun,  and  would  not  do  so  if  I  pleased 
to-morrow  again.  Why,  open  your  gray  gleamers,  you  Pig — you 
should  not  be  quite  so  obtuse  at  this  time  of  day,  I  think  — 

Hogg.  Whatna  warks  do  you  really  contribute  till,  Captain  1 

Odoherty.  I  write  politics  in  the  Quarterly — Belles  Lettres  some- 
times for  the  Edinburgh  ;  ditto,  for  the  Monthly  Review,  (particu- 
larly the  Supplemental  Numbers  about  foreign  books.)  Divinitv 
for  the  British  Critic — these  are  pretty  regular  jobs — but  I  also  favor 
now  and  then  Colburn,  Constable,  Waugh,  &c.,  in  their  Magazines. 
In  point  of  fact,  I  write  for  this  or  that  periodical,  according  to  the 
state  of  my  stomach  or  spirits,  (which  is  the  same  thing,)  when  I  sit 
down.  Am  I  flat — I  tip  my  Grandmother  a  bit  of  prose.  Am  I 
dunned  into  sourness — I  cut  up  some  deistical  fellow  for  the  Quar- 
terly.    Am  I  yellow  about  the  chops — do  I  sport  what  Crabbe  calls 

"  The  cool  contemptuous  smile 
Of  clever  persons  overcharged  with  bile ;" 

Why,  then,  there's  nothing  for  it  but  stirring  up  the  fire,  drawing  a 
cork,  and  Ebonizing — ainsi  va  le  monde  ! 

North.  So,  Principle,  Mr.  Odoherty,  is  entirely  laid  out  of  view  1 
Odoherty.  Not  at  all,  not  for  the  Bank  of  England,  my  dear  fellow. 
But  what  has  Principle  to  do  here  1  no  more  than  Principal  Baird, 
I  assure  ye.  Why,  don't  we  all  know  that  little  Cruikshank  did  the 
caricatures  of  the  King  for  Hone,  and  those  of  the  Queen  for  the 
other  party,*  and  who  thought  the  less  either  of  him  or  his  carica- 
tures 1     Are  a  man's  five  fingers  not  his  own  property  1 

North.  Dans  sa  peau  mourra  le  Reynard.  So  you  seriously 
think  yourself  entitled  to  play  Whig  the  one  day  and  Tory  the  next. 

*  He  did  not.— M. 


1823.]  THE  QUAETERLY.  285 

Odoherty.  "  Tros  Tyriusque  mihi  nullo  discrimine  agetur" — 

North.  You  talk  en  Suisse. 

Odoherty.  Ay,  and  as  you  know  to  your  cost,  old  boy, 
d'^argent,  point  de  Suisse  ! 

Hogg.  I  dinna  follow  you  vera  weel,  but  I'm  feared  you're  r. 
a  very  shameful  story  of  yourself,  Captain  Odoherty. 

North  {aside  to  Hogg.)  My  dear  Corydon — he's  only  bammh 
I  believe. 

Hogg.  Oh !  the  neerdoweel !  to  bam  Mr.  North !  this  beats 

Odoherty.  "  This  beats  York  races,  Doncaster  fair,  and  Juages 
come  down  to  hang  folks." 

North.  Enough  !  enough  ! — but  once  more  to  business,  my  friends ! 
what  say  you  as  to  the  Quarterly  ? 

Tickler.  'Tis  certainly  a  first-rate  Number,  the  best  they  have  had 
these  three  or  four  years  ;  but  I  don't  see  why  you  should  have  an 
article  upon  it. 

North.  I  do  see  it,  though.  Sir,  the  Quarterly  has  done  itself 
immortal  honor  by  that  paper  "  On  the  Opposition."  I  should  wil- 
lingly give  something  to  know  who  wrote  it. 

Tickler.  Why,  'tis  well  argued  and  well  written ;  but  after  all, 
your  own  work  had  said  the  same  things  before,  and  perhaps  as  well. 

North.  No,  indeed,  sir.  We  had  uttered  the  same  sentiments  and 
opinions  ;  but  neither  so  wisely  nor  so  well :  the  clear,  quiet,  mas- 
terly exposure  in  that  paper  has  not  often  been  rivalled.  We  have 
had  few  things  so  good  since  Burke's  pamphlets.  Once  more,  I 
would  like  to  know  the  author's  name.* 

Hogg.  Can  it  be  Mr.  Canning  1 

North.  No,  no  ;  it  has  neither  his  rhetoric  nor  his  oratory  :  nor 
has  it  the  air  of  being  written  by  so  old  or  so  high  a  statesman  as 
Canning. 

Tickler.  Croker? 

North.  Out  again.  It  wants  his  rapidity  and  his  vivadi  vis.  Com- 
pare it  with  the  Thoughts  on  Ireland.  They,  to  be  sure,  were  written 
when  he  was  very  young,  and  the  style  has  the  faults  of  youth,  in- 
experience, and  over  imitation  of  Tacitus ;  but  still  one  may  see  the 
pace  of  the  man's  mind  there ;  and  a  very  fiery  pace  it  is. 

Odoherty.  I  do  not  think  it  can  be  GifFord's  own  handiwork.     • 

North.  I  would  not  swear  that.  It  has  much  of  the  masculine  de- 
termined energy  of  Gifford's  mind ;  and  if  it  has  none  of  the  bad 
jokes  that  used  to  figure  in  his  diatribes,  for  bitter  bad  some 
of  them  were,  why,  such  a  man  may  very  well  be  supposed  to  have 
discovered  his  own  weak  points  by  this  time.  Of  late,  more's  the 
pity,  his  pen  has  not  been  very  familiar  to  us  even  in  the  Review. f 

*  Dr.  Maginn.— M.  f  Gifford  retired  from  the  Quarterly  in  1824,  and  died  in  1826.— M. 


286  NOCTES  AMBROSIANJE.  [March, 

Tickler.  It  will  be  a  great  loss  to  literature  when  he  retires  from 
his  Review.     I  wonder  who  is  to  succeed  him. 

North.  I  wish,  with  all  my  heart,  he  had  a  successor  worthy  of 
himself:  a  man  inspired,  like  him,  in  spite  of  all  his  defects,  with  a 
true  and  deep  reverence  for  the  old  spirit  of  English  loyalty  and 
English  religion  ;  and,  what  will  be  even  more  difficult  to  match, 
imbued  with  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  old  and  genuine  classics 
of  our  literature.  I  fear  no  young  man  will  do  ;  and  I  know  of  no 
old  one  likely  to  buckle  to  such  a  labor.  Murray  should  look  twice 
ere  he  leap  ;  but  perhaps  Gilford  himself  may  stand  it  out  longer 
than  seems  to  be  generally  expected. 

Tickler.  I  hope  so.  After  all,  the  Tories  might  find  it  almost  as 
difficult  to  replace  him,  as  the  Whigs  would  find  it  to  replace  our 
friend  Jeffrey. 

North.  Just  so.  The  truth  is,  that  both  Gilford  and  Jeffrey  have 
done  many  wrong  things — the  latter  many  hundreds,  perhaps  ;  but 
take  them  all  in  all,  they  are  scholars  and  gentlemen,  and  literature 
must  number  them  among  the  bene  meriti  of  her  republic.  Com- 
pare them  with  the  fry  they  have  so  long  kept  in  the  shade. 

Hogg  {testily.)  Neither  the  tane  nor  the  tither  has  said  a  word 
about  "  The  Three  Perils." 

Odoherty.  Come,  that's  shabby,  however.     But  cheer  up  ;  I  will 
do  you  in  both,  ere  three  months  be  over,  or  my  name's  not  Morgan. 
North.  Lord  keep  us !     Does  an  old  stager  like  the  Shepherd  feel 
sore  upon  such  points  as  these  ?     I  profess  I  had  no  notion  of  it,  or 
I  should  have  buttered  you  with  the  thumb  long  ago  myself. 
Hogg.  Praise  is  praise,  an  it  be  but  frae  a  butcher's  calland. 
North.  Elegant,  Hogg !  How  you  would  squeal  if  I  put  the  knife 
in  your  hide !     No  jokes  on  me,  my  formose  puer. 

Hogg.  Dinna  gloom  that  gait.  Od !  I  was  na  meaning  ony 
offence  — 

Tickler.  Kiss  and  be  friends.  But,  North,  don't  you  wonder  at  the 
Quarterly's  taking  no  notice  of  the  Spanish  affairs  ?  I  confess  I  ex- 
pected a  paper  on  that  subject,  full  of  real  information ;  which, 
indeed,  we  need  not  look  for  in  any  other  quarter. 

North.  Wait  a  little.  I  suppose  it  will  keep  cool  for  a  little,  like 
that  dishing  of  O'Meara. 

Odoherty.  I  give  up  my  brother  bog-trotter.  He  is  indeed  dished. 
Tickler.  Ay,  and  yet  I  am  not  sure  whether  it  be  not  Cobbett  that 
has  given  him  the  coup-de-grace.  Did  you  see  the  Statesman's  arti- 
cle? No? — Well,  then  Cobbett  just  says  the  truth  smack  out.* 
O'Meara  may  bother  away  with  paragraphs  till  Doomsday. — He  is 
a  gone  man,  until  he  denies  the  letters  printed  in  the  Quarterly. 

*  CoLbett  wrote  leading  articles,  at  that  time,  in  The  Statesman,  -which,  soon  went  down  —M. 


1823.]  BOOK   PUFFING.  287 

North.  "  Elegant  O'Meara,"  indeed ! — but  if  it  be  true  that  he's 
turned  out  of  the  menagerie,  I  suppose  no  more  need  be  said  of  him. 
I'll  tell  you  what  is  my  opinion — the  puff  on  that  fellow  in  the  last 
Edinburgh  Review  must  now  be  making  my  friend  Jeffrey  feel  as 
sore  as  Dr.  Phillpotts'  letter  itself  Oh !  sir,  these  are  the  sort  of 
rubs  that  make  a  man  bite  the  blood  out  of  his  nails. — Phillpotts' 
calm,  dignified,  unanswerable  smashing  has  done  them  more  harm 
than  any  thing  they  had  met  with  these  many  days,  and  then  on  the 
back  of  that  comes  this  vile  exposee. 

Odoherty.  My  private  opinion  is,  that  O'Meara's  book  was  got  up 
in  a  great  measure  as  a  puff  on  the  Edinburgh  Review.  The  art  of 
puffing  has  made  great  progress  of  late.  Devil  a  book  comes  out 
without  some  dirty  buttering  in  it,  either  of  you,  North,  or  the  Edin- 
burgh, or  the  Quarterly,  or  some  other  periodical  the  author 
wants  to  conciliate.  Witness  D'Israeli  buttering  Gifford — Lord 
John  Russell  buttering  Tom  Campbell — O'Meara  buttering  John 
Allen  ;^ — and  last  not  least,  Billy  Hazlitt  buttering  you  in  the 
Liberal. 

North.  Call  you  that  buttering  your  friends'?  A  shame  on  such 
butter  ! 

Odoherty.  What  would  you  have  1 — The  boys  can't  write  three 
pages  without  mentioning  you.  If  that  is  not  butter  enough  for  you, 
you  must  be  ill  to  please. 

Hogg.  The  captain's  in  the  right.  An  author's  aye  commended 
when  he's  kept  before  the  public.  That's  what  gars  me  pit  up  with 
the  jokes  of  some  of  you  chields. 

Odoherty.  Ditto.  But  the  fact  is,  that  the  Cockneys  are  mad — 
they  can  tell  a  hawk  from  a  handsaw  on  other  occasions  ;  but  when- 
ever the  wind  is  North,  due  North,  'tis  all  up  with  them — out  it 
comes,  the  absolute  slaver  of  insanity.  You  have  much  to  answer 
for.     We  shall  hear  of  some  tragedy  among  them  one  of  these  days. 

North.  Any  thing  but  another  Mirandola — say  I. 

Hogg.  Hoot,  hoot,  ye're  ower  severe  now,  Mr.  North.  The  poor 
lads  had  eneugh  to  do  to  gar  the  twa  ends  meet,  and  now  ye've 
rooked  them  clean  out.  If  they  were  stout,  braid-backed  chields  like 
the  Captain  and  me,  it  wad  be  less  matter,  they  could  yoke  to  some 
other  thing ;  but  the  puir  whitefaced  tea-drinking  billies,  what's  to 
come  o'them  1 — I'm  wae  when  I  think  o't. 

Tickler.  The  parishes  of  Wapping  and  Clerkenwell  have  good 
actions  against  North — he  must  have  raised  their  poor-rates  con- 
foundedly. 

*  John  Allen  travelled  on  the  Continent,  in  1802,  as  medical  attendant  and  companion,  and 
continued  a  hanger-on,  a  literary  toad-eater  at  Holland  House  for  many  years.  In  ISll  he 
was  elected  Warden,  and  in  1820,  Master  of  Dul-wich  College.  He  contributed  largely  to  the 
Edinburgh  Review,  and  died  in  1843. — M. 


288  NOCTES  AMBEOSIAIT^. 


[March, 


Odoherty.  Oh,  dear  ! — Slops  won't  come  to  so  much. — I  would 
contract  to  corn  and  water  them  at  sixpence  a  head  per  diem. 

Hogg.  Wull  ye  put  me  in  the  schedule  1 — Here's  my  thumb  ! 

Odoherty.  You,  you  monster,  you  Cyclops,  you  Polyphemus! 
why,  you  would  swallow  porridge  enough  to  ruin  me  in  a  fortnight : 
but  if  you'll  part  with  three  grinders  to  the  Odontist's  museum,  I 
may  give  you,  as  Mrs.  Walkinshaw  says,  another  interlocutor  of  the 
Lord  Ordinary. 

North.  Come,  come,  Hogg,  take  your  revenge  in  your  novel.  I 
have  seen  some  of  the  proof  sheets,  and  I  assure  you  I  think  it  will 
take  to  a  hair.  Indeed,  my  dear  fellow,  you  cannot,  if  you  would, 
launch  any  thing  that  will  not  have  talent  enough  to  swim  it  out. 
For  my  part,  I  liked  the  Perils  of  Man  extremely  well — -rough, 
coarse  pieces,  no  doubt — but,  on  the  whole,  a  free  rapid  narrative, 
some  eminently  picturesque  descriptions,  a  great  deal  of  good  blunt 
humor,  and  one  or  two  scenes,  which  I  wonder  the  play-wrights  have 
not  laid  paw  upon  long  ere  now.  Indeed,  I  think  the  Devil,  the  eat- 
ing Ploughman,  the  two  Princesses,  &c.  &c.,  would  all  do  capitally 
on  the  stage.  You  should  send  a  copy  to  Terry*  or  Murray.  Mur- 
ray, by  the  way,  deserves  much  credit  for  his  dramatization  of  Nigel. 

Hogg.  He's  a  clever  lad,  Murray.  I  like  him  better  than  ony 
play-actor  they  have. — He  never  gangs  beyond  Nature,  and  he  never 
buckles  to  ought  but  what  he's  up  to. 

Odoherty.  Would  all  actors  and  all  authors  had  wit  to  follow  that 
example! — There  is  really  an  immensity  of  quiet  comic  humor  about 
Murray — how  good  is  his  Jerry  Hawthorn !  but  he  did  wrong  to 
leave  out  Almacks  in  the  East,  and  the  Tread-mill — these  were 
absurd  sacrifices  to  the  squeamishness  of  the  modern  Athens — they 
were,  in  fact,  the  best  things  in  the  original  piece,  f 

North.  I  hobbled  out  one  night  to  see  the  thing,  but  although  the 
acting  was  excellent,  with  the  single  exception  of  the  row,  the  affair 
struck  me  as  a  coufoundedl}^  dull  one — no  incident,  no  story,  no 
character, — a  precious  heap  of  trash  assuredly. 

Tickler.  Well,  good  acting  is  a  jewel — Murray,  with  his  bluff 
humor,  Calcraft,  with  his  true  gentlemanlike  lightness,  and  Jones  with 
his  inimitable  knowing  grin,  made  it  go  down  with  me  sweetly. — 
What  do  you  think  of  Mr.  Vandenhoff'? 

Odoherty.  No  Vandal — but  Young  has  been  here  ! 

North.  Come,  come,  nobody  starts  with  being  a  Young.  Rome 
was  not  built  in  a  day — link  by  link  the  mail  is  made — we  must  all 
creep  before  we  walk. 

*  Terry  was  then  manager  of  the  Haymarket  Theatre  in  London,  and  Murray  of  the  Edin- 
burgh Theatre— M. 
t  Pierce  Egan's   "  Tom  and  Jerry." — M. 


1823.] 


EHYMma  PROSE.  289 


Odoherty.  You're  as  great  in  proverbs  as  Sancho  himself,  I  swear. 
Why  don't  you  write  a  rational  book  on  them  ?  Nothing  worth 
twopence  in  that  way,  since  Erasmus's  Adagia — all  our  English 
books  contemptible— poor — imperfect — dull — stupid — and  devoid 
of  all  arrangement.  As  for  D 'Israeli,  he,  as  I  said  in  my  review  of 
him,  knows  nothing  whatever  of  the  subject ;  for  he  quotes,  for  great 
rarities,  a  few  of  the  most  hackneyed  ones  in  existence — old  Plu- 
tarchs,  Joe  Millers,  .and  the  like. 

North.  I  admire  no  proverbs  more  than  those  Dean  Swift  used  to 
make  (not  to  repeat.) 

Odoherty.  It  would  be  a  good  thing  to  revive  the  manufacture, 
and  apply  it  to  literary  topics. 

North.  We  shall  see — what  would  you  think  of  reviving  Cowper's 
rhyming  prose*  in  the  mean  time  1  I  think  you  might  do  that 
easily,  Hogg,  or  you,  Odoherty;  either  of  you  have  rhymes,  God 
knows,  qucmtum  auff. 

Hogg.  I  fear  'twill  be  stuff— but  let's  try  our  hand 

Odoherty,  On  Peveril  of  the  Peak 

Hogg.  The  story's  ill  plann'd,  and  the  foundation  very  weak ;  yet, 
begin  where  you  please,  I  rather  think  you'll  not  stop — Great  authors 
like  these  may  jump  or  hop,  they  may  leap  over  years,  in  one 
chapter  a  score  or  more,  yet  no  gap  appears,  one  reads  on  as  before ; 
but  if  I  or  any  other  should  follow  after  that  great  brother,  skipping 
and  hipping,  notching  and  botching,  I  rather  apprehend  my  very  best 
friend  would  vote  me  a  Bore. 

Odoherty,  You  need  not  feel  sore  although  that  should  be  the  case, 
I  make  bold,  my  dear  Jamie,  to  tell  ye  the  truth  to  your  face,  there's 
something  so  sweet,  and  so  mellow,  and  so  little  of  the  air  of  being 
got  up,  about  the  style  of-  that  right  fellow,  that  whatever  he  touches 
pleases  everybody,  male  and  female,  from  Grizzy  to  the  Duchess, 
from  the  porter  to  the  peer  ;  and,  this  is  what's  so  queer,  all's  one 
whether  he  describe  King  Charles  or  King  Charles's  little  pet  pup,  or 
beer  foaming  in  a  night  cellar's  barrels,  or  muscat  wine  sparkling  in 
a  jewell'd  cap — high  or  low,  with  him  we  go  ;  no  affectation,  no 
botheration,  sound  -sense,  a  high  feeling  for  honor  and  arms,  a  heart 

*  A  few  years  later,  this  rhyming  prose  was  actually  revived,  and  by  no  less  an  author  than 
D'Israeli,  in  his  "  Wondrous  Tale  of  Alroy."  However,  he  did  not  make  very  much  use  of  it. 
In  May,  1833,  Maginn,  who  wrote  nearly  all  the  letter-press  to  the  "  Gallery  of  Literary 
Characters"  in  Fraser'^s  Magazine,  (the  etched  portraits  were  by  iJaniel  iMaclise,  then  a  young 
Irish  artist  rising  into  celebrity,  and  now  one  of  the  first  painters  i,n  Europe,)  hit  off  this 
rhyming  pri)se  very  neatly.  The  sketch  thus  commenced:  ''  0  Reader  dear  !  do  pray  look  here, 
and  you  will  spy  the  curly  hair,  and  forehead  bnre,  and  nose  so  high,  and  gleaming  eye,  of 
Benjamin  D'is-r;i-e-li,  the  wondrous  hoy  who  wrote  Alroy  in  rhyme  and  prose,  only  to  show 
how  long  ago  victorious  Judah's  lion-banner  rose."  It  is  as  easy  to  write  this  as  to  write 
prose,  as  any  one  can  ascertiin  who  will  make  the  experiment.  Maginn  could  talk  in  this 
rhymed  prose  for  half  an  hour  at  a  lime,  without  ever  pausing  for  a  word  or  rhyme.  I  have 
no  doubt  that  the  next  few  pages,  in  which  continuous  examples  are  iriven,  are  written  by 
Maginn.— M. 

VOL.  I.  13 


290  N0CTE8   AMBROSIAN^.  [March, 

that  the  black  eye  of  a  pretty  girl  warms,  gently  and  gaily,  but  never 
ungentaly,  a  pawky  glance  into  everything  mean,  yet  somehow  or 
other  a  loftiness  of  spirit  that  never  ceases  to  be  felt  and  seen ;  these 
are  the  qualities,  by  which  he  contrives  to  make  all  the  rest  of  your 
tribe  look  like  nullities,  and  by  which — no  offence,  for  you  must  not 
be  disappointed  of  your  rhyme,  though  it  comes  a  little  disjointed — 
he  contrives,  thanks  to  his  long  nob,  to  draw  into  his  own  fob  such  a 
noble  shower  of  pounds,  shillings  and  pence. 

Hogg.  I  wish  out  of  his  next  book,  for  which  I  suppose  we  may 
soon  begin  to  look,  he  would  be  so  kind  as  to  pay  down  what  I  owe 
to  the  Duke,  and  also  to  the  Crown,  for  rents  and  taxes  and  so  forth ; 
or  you,  why  won't  you  do  the  same  good  turn  for  me,  Mr.  North  % 

North.  If  I  were  you,  Dear  Jem,  when  money  became  due  to 
them,  I  would  instantly  take  my  pen  and  compose  an  ode ;  they 
never  would  dun  you  again,  if  your  verses  flowed,  as  I  think  they 
would,  easy  and  good,  and  sweet  and  pleasant,  as  your  prose  does  at 
present;  but  as  for  me, my  dear  honey — as  for  me  paying  down  money, 
for  you  or  any  other  pastoral  poet,  I  must  have  ye  to  know  it,  the 
idea's  quite  absurd — I  won't  do  it,  upon  my  word — I  am  not  so 
green. — In  point  of  fact,  I  have  entered  into  a  compact,  (vyith  myself, 
I  mean)  to  keep  all  my  cash,  making  no  sort  of  dash,  buying  neither 
pictures  nor  plate,  nor  a  Poyais  estate ;  eating  nothing  better  than 
plain  veals  and  muttons,  and  drinking  nothing  better  than  simple 
claret  and  champagne  ;  dressing  up  my  old  coats  with  new  collars  and 
buttons  ;  and,  in  a  word,  cutting  all  expenses  that  are  foolish  and  vain, 
and  driving  on  with  the  old  phaeton,  the  old  horses,  and  the  old  pos- 
tilion ;  in  short,  maintaining  the  most  rigid  economy,  until  it  be  uni- 
versally known  o'  me,  that  I  am  fairly  worth  my  cool  million.  When 
that  is  done,  there  will  be  something  new  seen  under  the  sun ;  for 
I'll  let  nobody  then  call  me  a  niggard,  but  mount  everything  in 
the  grandest  style,  that  was  ever  seen  in  this  part  of  the  isle,  show- 
ing off,  whoever  may  scoff,  like  a  second  Sir  Gregor  Macgregor.* 

Hogg.  I  suppose  you  speak  of  his  highness  the  Cazique :  but, 
after  all,  what  could  he  have  expected,  if  he  had  but  recollected, 
that  ever  since  the  reign  of  Canmore  was  ended,  the  clan  of  might 
and  main  from  which  that  potentate  is  descended,  have  condescended 
to  patronize  as  their  favorite  air,  that  fine  old  pibroch,  "Pacck- 
hundsaidh  gu  bair." 

*  This  was  a  Scotchman,  who  declared,  diiring  the  South  American  contest  for  independence, 
that  he  had  received  the  grant  of  a  Province  called  Poyais,  with  the  title  of  Cacique.  He 
created  himself  baronet,  by  the  title  of  Sir  Gregor  MacGregor — proclaimtd  that  he  had  a  right 
to  confer  titles  of  nobility  in  Poyais— instituted  an  Order  of  Knighthood,  of  which  he  was 
Grand  Master — invited  adventurers  to  fight  under  his  banner — wore  the  dress  of  a  General 
officer,  green,  with  gold  embroidery — succeeded  in  making  up  "  the  Poyais  Legion,"  promis- 
ing grants  of  land  to  all  who  joined  him— took  his  dupes  over  to  Poyais,  where  most  of  them 
perished,  most  miserably,  of  want  and  other  discomforts — and,  in  a  word,  made  many  dupes. — 
He  was  an  impudent  and  successful  charlatan.— M. 


1823.]  CHEISTOPHEE   A   CACIQUE,  291 


(SinffS.) 


0  ne'er  such  a  race  was,  as  there  in  that  place  was 

And  there  ne'er  such  a  chase  was  at  a',  man  ; 
From  ilk  other  they  run,  all  without  tuck  o'  drum— 
Deil  a  body  made  use  of  a  paw,  man ; 

And  we  ran,  and  they  ran, 
And  they  ran,  and  we  ran, 
But  wha  was't  run  fastest  of  a',  man  ? 


Whether  they  ran,  or  we  ran,  or  we  wan,  or  they  wan, 

Or  if  there  was  winning  at  a'  man. 
There's  no  man  can  tell,  save  our  brave  general, 

Wha  first  began  running  of  a',  man  ; 
And  we  ran,  &c. 


North.  When  I  am  a  king,  which,  after  all,  is  a  sort  of  a  thing, 
(to  speak  with  civility,)  that  in  these  days  of  pudding  and  praise, 
nobody  will  call  a  mere  impossibility — Well,  when  I  am  a  King, 
like  his  Majesty  Gregor,  lesser  or  bigger,  the  very  first  thing  that 
I  will  do,  will  be  to  send  home  a  ship,  inviting  you,  I  mean  James 
Hogg,  you  comical  dog,  to  make  a  trip,  and  you  also,  Sir  En- 
sign, you  rip — all  the  way  out  to  my  realms,  you  shall  sip,  you  two 
schlems,  grog  and  flip ;  and  whenever  you  arrive,  as  sure  as  I'm 
alive,  I'll  come  down  to  the  shore,  with  my  princes  and  peers,  and 
the  cannon  shall  roar,  and  we'll  give  you  three  cheers.  But  as  for 
you,  Morgan,  ere  you're  well  in  the  bay,  you  will  hear  the  church 
organ  sounding  away,  and  we'll  lead  you  at  once,  all  rigged  out 
for  the  nonce,  to  the  highest  altar,  to  be  noosed  in  Hymen's  halter  ; 
for  so  great  is  my  regard-,  my  richest  prettiest  little  ward,  whether 
Duchess  or  Caziquess,  you  need  look  for  nothing  less,  as  sure  as 
my  name's  King  Christopher,  it  is  you  shall  have  the  fist  of  her. 
But  for  you,  Jamie  Hogg,  don't  think  to  come  ijicog — you  shall 
have  a  butt  of  sherry,  to  make  your  heart  merry — a  grand  golden 
chain,  to  wear  over  your  maud — and  the  Lords  of  my  train  shall 
shout  and  applaud,  crying  Christopher  Jlor eat,  et  sus  suus  Laureate  ! — 
With  Odoherty  for  my  field-marshal,  and  Tickler  for  my  premier, 
I  think,  but  I  may  be  partial,  things  will  go  on  airer  and  jemmier — 
and  Blackwood  will  come  out  to  be  my  bookseller,  no  doubt ; 
he  shall  have  the  completest  of  monopolies  in  my  metropolis,  for 
we'll  suffer  nobody  to  squint  at  any  thing  that's  in  print,  unless 
it  drop  from  his  transatlantic  shop ;  and  the  Magazine  will  in  lieu 
of  a  Queen  amuse  the  leisure  hours  of  me  and  my  powers  ;  and 
with  all  these  alliances,  aids  and  appliances,  I  don't  think  I  need 
speak  either  modester  or  meeker,  why,  if  Macgregor  's  Cazique, 
I  shall  rank  as  Caziquer. 


292  NOCTES   AMBROSIANJE.  [March, 

Hogg. .  Will  you  be  a  despot,  though  ? 

Noi^h.  Let  me  see — no — no — no — too  much  trouble — but  no 
sedition  within  the  bounds  of  my  bubble.  Instant  perdition  shall 
fall  on  Joseph  Hume,  if  he  dares  to  come  out  Disaffection  to  illume, 
to  move  for  any  papers,  or  stir  up  any  rows  about  tithe-pigs  or  seal- 
ing-wax or  my  magazinish  spouse,  whom,  though  she  be  spotless  as 
unsunned  snow,  I  would  have  you,  and  all  the  Bubblish  Nation  to 
know,  I  will  discard  whenever  I  please,  sirs,  cutting  your  heads  off  if 
you  sneeze,  sirs. 

Odoherty.  I  envy  not  your  pomp,  I  envy  Hogg  !     {Sings.) 

How  happy  a  state  will  two  poets  possess, 
When  Hogg  has  his  wreath,  I  my  rich  Caziquess ; 
On  the  wife  and  the  Muse  we'll  depend  for  support, 
And  cringe,  without  shame,  at  great  Christopher's  court. 
What  though  Hogg  in  a  maud  and  gray  breeches  does  go, 
He  will  soon  be  bepowdered  and  strut  like  a  beau ; 
.  On  a  laureate  like  him,  'twon't  be  going  too  far. 
To  bestow,  miglity  monarch,  St.  Christopher's  Star. 

North.  On  the  wings  of  imagination,  I  now  overfly  time  and  space ; 
behold  me  exercising  the  kingly  vocation  among  the  mighty  Bubblish 
race — in  my  mind's  eye,  here  am  I,  this  is  my  court,  and  you  the 
potent  nobles  that  resort  to  do  me  homieur  and  hommage  in  the  hopes 
oi  fricassee  Siud  frommage,  wherein  if  I  disappoint  you  grande  dom- 
mage  : — Great  Shepherd,  kneel — thy  shoulder-blade  shall  feel,  ere 
long,  the  weight  of  my  cold  steel,  in' reward  for  thy  song  ! 

Odoherty.  Come,  Hogg, — mind  your  eye,  tip  us  something  a  la 
Pye.* 

North.  I  forgot  to  observe,  that  from  customary  modesty  not  to 
swerve,  and  preferring  to  imitate  your  old  Bourbon  or  Guelf,  to  any 
Macgregor  or  Iturbide  that  may  be  laid  ere  a  week's  over  on  the 
shelf,  I  shall  christen  the  chief  of  knightly  orders  established  within 
my  borders,  by  the  name  of  a  worthy  that  is  now  dead,  whose  good 
looking  old-fashioned  head  has  served  me  in  good  stead,  being  always 
displayed  on  my  Magazines'  backs,  to  the  horror  of  all  Whiggish 
clamjamphrey,  Jeremybenthamites,  and  Cockney  hacks. 

{^Odoherty  whispers  for  some  time  to  Hogg,  and  then  rising ,  picks 
out  a  volume  of  the  Right  Hon.  the  Lord  Byron.) 

Tickler.  What's  all  this  mummery  1  Let  your  proceedings  be 
more  summary — I'm  tired  of  such  flummery. 

*  Henry  James  Pye  was  the  Poet  Laureate, -who  immedirttely' preceded  Southey,  and  was 
born  in  1745,  appointed  Laureate  in  1790,  made  London  police  Magistrate  in  1792,  and  died  in. 
1813.     He  wrote  a  great  many  bad  verses  : — the  best  known  being  an  epic,  called  "Alfred." — M. 


1823.] 


GEOKGE   BUCHANAN". 


293 


Odoherty  [reads.) 

ON  THE  STAR  OF    "  THE  LEGION  OF  HONOE." 

{From  the  French) 

Star  of  the  brave ! — whose  beam  hath 

shed 
Such  glory  o'er  the  quick  and  dead — 
Thou  radiant  and  adored  deceit, 
Which  millions  rush'd  in  arms  to  greet! 
Wild  meteor  of  immortal  birth, 
Why  rise  in  Heaven  to  set  on  earth ! 

Souls  of  slain  heroes  form'd  thy  rays  ; 
Eternity  flashed  through  thy  blaze  ! 
The  music  of  thy  martial  sphere 
Was  fame  on  high  and  honor  here  ; 
And  thy  light  broke  on  human  eyes, 
Like  a  volcano  of  the  skies. 

Like  lava  roll'd  thy  stream  of  flood, 
And  swept  down  empires  with  its  blood; 
Earth  rocked  beneath  thee  to  her  base, 
As  thou  didst  lighten  through  all  space  ; 
And  the  shorn  sun  grew  dim  in  air, 
And  set  while  thou  wert  dwelling  there. 


Before  thee  rose,  and  with  thee  grew, 

A  Rainbow  of  the  loveliest  hue. 

Of  three  bright  colors,:}:  each  divine, 

And  fit  for  that  celestial  sign ; 

For  Freedom's  hand  had  blended  them 

Like  tints  in  an  immortal  gem. 

One  tint  was  of  the  sunbeam's  dyes. 
One,  the  blue  depth  of  Seraph's  eyes. 
One,  the  pure  Spirit's  veil  of  white 
Had  robed  in  radiance  of  its  light ; 
The  three  so  mingled,  did  beseem 
The  texture  of  a  heavenly  dream. 

Star  of  the  brave  !  thy  ray  is  pale, 
And  darkness  must  again  prevail ! 
But  oh !  thou  Rainbow  of  the  free  1 
Our  tears  and  blood  must  flow  for  thee. 


Hogg  {extemporizes.) 

ON  THE  HEAD  OF  GEORGE  BUCHANAN. 

{From  the  ChoMee.) 

Head   of   the  Sage  !  whose  mug  has 

shed 
Such  jollity  o'er  quick  and  dead — 
O'er  that  bright  tome  presiding  high. 
Which  MILLIONS  rush  each  month  to  buy, 
That  meteor  of  immortal  birth ! 
Read  rather  more  than   "  Heaven  and 

Earth."-* 

Limbs  of  torn  authors  form  its  rays ; 
Eternity  attends  its  praise  ; 
The  music  of  its  partial  puff 
Gives  fame  arid  honor  quantum  suff. 
And  its  fist  darkens  hostile  eyes. 
Like  Randalf  hammering  for  a  prize. 

Like  lava,  it  in  wrathful  mood 

Swept  down  Hunt's  kingdoms  with  its 

flood  ! 
Leigh  bow'd  before  it,  looking  base. 
And  wiped  the  spittle  from  his  face ; 
And  Hazlitt's  nose  burnt  dim  for  care, 
Spite  of  the  purple  dwelling  there. 

Behind  thee  rose,  behind  thee  grew 

A  Rainbow  of  the  loveliest  hue. 

Of  three  bright  fellows,  each  divine, 

And  fit  at  Ambrose's  to  dine  : 

For  Humbug's  hand  had  blended  them 

Much  Hke  three  posies  on  a  stem. 

One  loves  to  sport  the  rose  of  red,  § 
One,  the  rough  thistle's  burly  head, 
One — he  of  Ireland's  modest  mien — 
Is  deck'd  out  with  the  shamrock  green ; 
The  three  so  mingled,  do  beseem 
The  texture  of  a  heavenly  dream. 

Head  of  the  Sage  !  thy  own  old  bones  || 
Lie  snug  beneath  Greyfriars  stones. 
But,  oh !  thou  Rainbow  of  the  three  ! 
North — Tickler — and  Odoherty ! 


*  A  poem  by  the  Right  Hon.  the  Lord  Byron. — C.  N.  I  Randal,  a  prize-fisrhter. — M. 

%  The  tri-color.— C.  N. 

§  It  is  not,  perhaps,  generally  known,  that  Tickler's  family  was  originally  English.  It  is 
supposed  that  they  lived  at  the  Southside  in  the  days  of  Edward  I.,  Avho  was  himself  a 
Tickler.— C.  N. 

II  To  the  disgrace  of  the  city  of  Edinburgh,  and  indeed  of  all  Scotland,  no  stone  marks 
where  the  mortal  remains  of  her  greatest  scholar — the  wit,  the  poet,  the  historian  ;  the  son,  of 
whom  she,-perhaps,  has  most  reason  to  be  proud,  are  deposited.  Should  not  this  be  corrected  ? 
It  certainly  should.— C.  N.     [It  has  not  yet  been  corrected. — M.] 


294 


NOCTES   AMBROSIAN^. 


[March, 


When  thy  bright  promise  fades  away, 
Our  life  is  but  a  load  of  elay. 

And  Freedom  hallows  with  her  tread 
The  silent  cities  of  the  dead ; 
For  beautiful  in  death  are  they 
Who  proudly  fall  in  her  array — 
And  soon,  oh,  Goddess  !  may  we  be 
For  evermore  with  them  or  thee  ! 


Were  thy  bright  look  to  fade  away. 
Our  life  were  but  a  load  of  hay. 

Scorn  hallows  with  a  hearty  kick, 
The  dumb  posteriors  of  Sir  Dick  ;* 
And  beautiful,  but  dead,  we  deem 
Tom    Campbell's   mess    of  curds    and 

cream ; 
And  soon,  0,  Taylor  !  will  it  be 
A  match  in  Balaam  ev'n  for  thee  ! 


{Hogg  kneels^  a  solemn  air  is  heard  from  Odohertyh  trombone^ 
Tickler^  with  dignity^  hands  the  poker  to  Mr.  North  ;  while 
it  is  descending  slowly  towards  the  Shepherd'' s  shoulder^  the 
curtain  is  dropt  down  very  gradually  upon  the  dramatis  per- 
sonce,  who  form  a  perfect  picture.) 

*  Sir  Richard  Phillips,  editor  of  the  Monthly  Magazine, — M. 


295 


No.  VIII.— MAY,  1823. 


Present — Ettrick  Shepherd,  Chairman ;  Kempferhausen,  Crou- 
pier ;  Tickler,  Odoherty,  Dr.  Mullion,  &c, 

SCENE — The  Chaldee  Chamber — Table  as  it  should  be. 

TiM^— Ten  F.  M. 

Kempferhausen.  Ah,  mein  Gott !  what  for  a  barbarian  !  And  you 
came  to  town  on  purpose  ? 

Hogg.  Deed  did  I,  lad.  And  what  for  no  ?  I  aye  come  in  when 
there's  ony  thing*  o'  the  kind  gaun  forrit. 

Kempferhausen.  O  shocking !  you  really  horrify  me !  You  like  to 
see  such  things  1     You  really  find  a  pleasure  in  them  ? 

Hogg.  Pleasure  here,  pleasure  there,  I  cannot  bide  away  from  a 
hangin' — I  tell  you  plainly  that  I  think  it's  worth  a'  the  Tragedy  Plays 
that  ever  were  acted — I  like  to  be  garred  to  grue. 

Odoherty.  And  of  course  a  female  exit  is  the  more  piquant — how 
did  the  old  lady  go  off  then  ? 

Hogg.  Were  you  no  there,  Ensign  ?  Odd,  I  thought  I  heard  your 
cough  in  the  crowd.  You  were  there,  you  deceiver — you  were — you 
were  not  the  length  of  a  cart-tram  ahint  mysel. 

Kempferhausen.  O,  Mr.  Odoherty,  you  too  ! 

Tickler.  Pooh,  pooh  !  Odoherty  went  to  get  materials  for  an  article 
— he  has  promised  Ebony  a  series  of  Horjs  Patibulanjs,  and  they  will 
be  taking  papers  I  believe,  after  all. 

Hogg.  I  think  I  could  contribute  to  that  series  mysel.  Odd !  I've 
seen  a  matter  of  fifty  hangings  in  my  time. 

Odoherty.  Fifty  !  why,  Hogg,  you're  old  enough  to  be  my  grand- 
father— and  yet  I've  seen  three  times  that  number  myself — besides 
plenty  of  shootings,  and  all  manner  of  outlandish  doings — guillotine 
— sword — axe 

Hogg.  I  wad  gang  a  lang  gait  to  see  a  beheading.  A  beheading 
for  my  siller — it's  clear  afore  ony  other  way. 

Odoherty.  Genteeler,  I  confess — but  otherwise  so  so ;  and  as  for  the 
matter  of  cleanliness,  your  cord  is  certainly  the  very  jewel  of  them  all 
for  that.     Why,  Hogg,  I've  seen  half  the  breadth  of  a  street  smeared 


296  NOCTES  AMBKQSIAN^.  [Mat, 

over  with  one  fellow's  claret ;  and  then  the  assistants  trundling  in  a 
wiieelbarrow  of  saw-dust,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing — is  disgusting,  and 
apt  to  spoil  one's  breakfast. 

Hogg.  Weel,  I  never  saw  onybody  gang  aif  easier  than  Lucky 
M'Kinnon — I  keepit  my  ee  upon  her,  and  she  never  made  ae  single 
steer  either  wi'  foot  or  hand.     She  was  very  easy,  poor  woman. 

Dr.  Mullion.  Just  a  stroke  of  apoplexy — nothing  more. 

Odoherty.  You  are  right,  I  believe,  and  that  after  all  is  the  best  way 
it  can  operate. 

Dr.  Mullion.  In  former  times,  when  the  poor  devil  had  -to  leap  from 
a  ladder,  he  might  go  up  two  or  three  steps  higher  and  make  such  a 
spring  that  he  was  sure  of  breaking  his  spine  ;  but  now-a-days  the  fall 
is  so  short  and  so  perpendicular,  that  they  all  die  of  apoplexy  or  stran- 
gulation— which  last  is  bad. 

Odoherty.  What  did  your  friend  Brodie  die  of,*  Mr.  Tickler  ? 

Tickler.  Apoplexy,  I  suppose.     His  face  was  as  black  as  my  hat. 

Hogg.  Lucky  M'Kiiinon's  bonny  face  was  black  too,  they  were  saying. 

Dr.  Mullion.  Yes,  "  black,  but  comely."  I  saw  her  a  day  or  two 
afterwards — very  hke  the  print. 

Tickler.  Those  infernal  idiots,  the  Phrenologists,  have  been  kicking 
up  a  dust  about  her  skull,  too,  it  appears.  Will  those  fellows  take  no 
hint? 

Odoherty.  They  take  a  hint !  Why,  you  might  as  well  preach  to 
the  Jumpers,  or  the  Harmonists,  or  any  other  set  of  stupid  fanatics. 
Don't  let  me  hear  them  mentioned  again. 

Dr.  Mullion.  They  have  survived  the  turnip.  What  more  can  be 
said  ?  * 

Hogg.  The  turnip,  Doctor  ? 

Dr.  Mullion.  You  haven't  heard  of  it  then  ?  I  thought  all  the 
world  had.  You  must  know,  however,  that  a  certain  ingenious  person 
of  this  town  lately  met  with  a  turnip  of  more  than  common  foziness  in 
his  field — he  made  a  cast  of  it,  clapped  it  to  the  cast  of  somebody's 
face,  and  sent  the  composition  to  the  Phrenological,  with  his  compli- 
ments, as  3i  facsimile  of  the  head  of  a  celebrated  Swede,hj  name  Pro- 
fessor Tornhippson.  They  bit — a  committee  was  appointed — a  report 
was  drawn  up — and  the  whole  character  of  the  professor  was  soon 
made  out  as  completely  secundem  artem,  as  Haggart's  had  been  under 
the  same  happy  auspices  a  little  before.  In  a  word,  they  found  out 
that  the  illustrious  Dr.  Tornhippson  had  been  distinguished  for  his  In- 
habitiveness,  Constructiveness,  Philoprogenitiveness,  &c.— nay,  even 
for  "Tune,"  "Ideality,"  and  "Veneration." 

*  Brodie,  who  was  a  Deacon,  invented  the  drop,  (for  execution,)  and  was  the  first  who  per- 
ished by  it.  So  with  the  Earl  of  Morton,  who  constructed  the  instrument  of  decapitation  called 
The  Maiden.  Dr.  Guillotin,  who  improved  on  this,  did  not  fall  a  victim  of  his  ingenuity,  as 
has  been  reported,  but  survived  until  1814. — M. 


1823.]  QUENTIN  DIJEWAED.  297 

Odoherty.  I  fear  they  have  heard  of  the  hoax,  and  cancelled  that 
sheet  of  their  Transactions.     What  a  pity ! 

Hogg.  Hoh  !  hoh  !  hoh  !  The  organization  of  a  fozy  turnip  !  Hoh  ! 
hoh  !  hoh  !  hoh  !  the  like  o'  that !  The  Swedish  turnip — the  celebrated 
Swede  ! 

Odoherty.  Le  Glorieux  himself  never  carried  through  a  better  quizz. 
The  whole  thing  is  ^QY^QQi-^Fuit  Ilium  I — The  worst  of  the  whole 
was,  that  a  couple  of  the  leading  members  had  been  disputing  rather 
keenly,  which  of  their  own  two  organizations  bore  the  greater  resem- 
blance to  that  of  the  enlightened  defunct. 

Tickler.  ]S"ame,  name. 

Hogg.  Wha  were  the  twa  saps  ?  '  Name  them,  name  them. 

Odoherty.  No,  I  shall  spare  their  names  ;  for  I  hear  your  New  Novel 
is  to  be  a  deuced  personal  thing,  and  you  would  perhaps  introduce 
them. 

Hogg.  Here's  my  hand. 

Odoherty.  Tush,  tush.  I'll  tell  you  no  more,  but  that  the  one  of 
them  belongs  to  the  Stot's  establishment,  and  the  other  jobs  occasion- 
ally in  the  balaam  line  for  the  Crany  Review.'*  Really,  they're  not 
worth  your  libelling  them,  kind  Shepherd. 

Hogg.  We'll  see — we'll  see. 

Tickler.  And  is  it  really  to  be  a  personal  work,  Hogg  ? 

Hogg.  It  sets  you  weel,  hinney — but  ha'  done,  ha'  done.  Ye'll  a' 
read  and  judge  for  yourselves  in  the  course  of  a  week  or  twa ;  for,  now 
that  Quentin  Durward's  out  o'  his  hands,  Ballantyne  will  surely  skelp 
on  wi'  me.  His  presses  have  been  a'  sae  thrang  this  while,  that  I 
havena  gotten  aboon  half  the  third  volume  set  up.  But  I'll  spur  up 
the  lad,  noo.  De'il  mean  him,  I  think  he's  no  blate  to  keep  me  taiglin 
for  ony  Quentin  Durward  that  ever  came  out  o'  Glenhoulakin. 

Tickler.  Come  now,  Hogg,  confess  that  Quentin  Durward  is  a  fine, 
a  noble,  a  glorious  thing. 

Hogg.  Wait  a  wee. 

Odoherty.  As  your  work  is  still  in  secretis^  of  course  we  can't  insti- 
tute any  comparisons — but  I,  for  one,  shall  say  honestly,  that  I  look 
upon  Quentin  Durward  as  the  very  best  thing  that  has  come  out  since 
Old  Mortality. 

Hogg.  Ay,  man ?  and.div  ye  really  think  sae  in  earnest  ?  Weel, 

I  cannot.but  confess  it,  I'm  muckle  of  the  same  opinion  mysell,  between 
friends.  It's  clean  afore  Peveril — ay,  and  Needgill  too — clean  afore 
them. 

Tickler.  It  has  all  the  novelty  of  another  Ivanhoe — and  yet  all  the 
ease  and  lightness  of  another  Guy  Mannering — and  by  the  way,  Hogg, 
the  author  seems  to  be  as  fond  of  hanging-matches  as  yourself — what 

*  The  /Scotsman  newspaper  and  the  Fh/renologicaZ  Hevi&w.-^M. 
13* 


2S98  NOCTES  AMBROSIAN^.  [Mat, 

capital  characters  those  two  ladder  boys  are — and  then  their  never 
stirring  without  rope  and  pulley,  any  more  than  a  parson  without  a 
corkscrew ! 

Hogg.  Gleg  chields,  faith.  Ad !  my  flesh  creepit  whenever  they 
cam  on  the  boards — I  just  thought  I  saw  the  rape  dangling  in  the 
wind  before  my  very  een.  Yon  tinkler  Moograbbin — what  a  devil  of 
a  spurling  yon  daur-the-mischief  would  mak  !  I  think  I  see  him  flung 
aft: 

Odoherty.  Your  imagination  is  lively,  good  Shepherd.  Have  you 
introduced  any  similar  scenes  in  your  work  ? 

Hogg.  Ha !  lad — wait  a  wee,  again — pumping,  pumping ! 

Odoherty.  You  seem  to  think  everybody  is  on  the  qui  vive  for  your 
bundle  of  balaam. 

Hogg.  Balaam  ?  Gude  have  mercy  on  us  I  he's  ca'in't  balaam  or 
e'er  its  out ! 

Mullion.  Well,  that's  not  so  bad  after  all,  as  calling  it  balaam  after 
it  is  out ;  which,  however,  I  am  sure  nobody  will  do ;  at  least,  nobody 
but  the  Standard-bearer. 

Hogg.  And  his  tongue's  nae  scandal.  Doctor — Od  !  every  thing's 
balaam  wi'  him,  amaist.  He  ca'd  the  Brownie  of  Bodsbeck  balaam, 
and  yet  it  gaed  through  three  editions. 

Odoherty.  Three  editions  ?     Are  you  serious  ? 

Hogg.  Dead  serious — Od  !  does  a  new  title  not  make  a  new  edi- 
tion ? — If  ye  deny  that,  I'll  hae  ye  afore  The  Three,  and  see  how  you'll 
like  shoolin  out  your  gowd,  but  to  be  sure  your  brass  is  mair  plenty, 
my  man. 

Odoherty.  Mr.  Hogg,  you  and  the  Author  of  Waverley  are  begin- 
ning to  give  yourselves  a  confounded  deal  of  airs  upon  your  cash.  I 
don't  see  what  he  had  to  do  with  blowing  such  a  trumpet  about  his 
beeves,  and  muttons,  and  so  forth,  in  that  introduction  of  his.  As 
for  his  sneers  about  garreteers,  and  chops,  and  Grub  Street,  I  hope  the 
gentlemen  of  the  press  will  take  the  illiberality  as  it  deserves.  Upon 
honor,  I  don't  think  it  was  worthy  of  the  Great  Unknown  to  take  such 
a  fling  at  the  innocent  misfortunes  of  a  set  of  gentlemen,  who  have 
all  of  them  done  their  best  to  please  the  public — which  is  more  than 
I  opine  any  body  will  venture  to  say  for  him. 

Hogg.  Come,  come.  Captain  Odoherty,  what's  your  drift  ? — Do  you 
mean  to  say  that  I  am  a  gentleman  of  the  press,  sir  ? 

Odoherty.  Much  may  be  said  on  both  sides — ^but,  however,  you 
have  beeves  and  muttons  enough,  I  suppose,  as  well  as  Peveril ;  and 
you  don't  live  in  Grub  Street. 

Hogg.  I  live  in  as  decent  a  place  as  yoursell.  Captain.  I  put  up  at 
Mackay's*  noo,  when  I'm  in  town' — tis  a  very  comfortable  house,  and 
I  can  gang  into  the  traveller's  room,  and  get  pleasant  company  when- 

♦  Mackay'3  Hotel,  Prince's  Street,  Edinburgh.— M. 


1823.] 


BEE ANGER.  299 


ever  my  fingers  are  dinnled  wi'  driving  tlie  pen.  And  I'm  a'  in  the 
heart  o'  business  too — Mr.  Constable's  grand  new  shop's  just  foment 
my  window — Mr.  Blackwood's  no  a  hap-stap-and-lowp  amaist  farrer 
west — and  Ballantyne's  deevils,  they  can  come  jinking  back  and  for- 
rit  in  no  time  by  the  playhouse  stairs — and  Ambrose's  here,  I  can 
skelp  ower,  if  it  were  a  perfect  steep,  without  weeting  my  shoon. 

Odoherty.  Your  top-boots  you  mean — but  I  beg  your  pardon,  you 
are  as  sore  about  the  boots  as  old  Philip  of  Argenton  himself.  I  beg 
your  pardon,  good  Monsieur  Bete-bottee. 

Hogg.  You  needna  be  moushying  me.  I  ken  naething  ava  about 
your  parley vouzing  system — that's  my  apothegm. 

Odoherty,  Hogg,  I  think  I  have  heard  you  say,  that  you  sometimes 
find  things  take  in  the  ratio  of  their  unintelligibility. 

Hogg.  What's  that  now  ? 

Odoherty.  I  mean  to  say,  that  you  think  people  are  at  times  best 
pleased  with  what  they  can't  make  neither  head  nor  tail  of. 

Hogg.  'Tis  as  true  a  word  as  ever  came  out  of  a  fause  loon's  cheese- 
trap.  I  aye  thocht  weel  of  the  non-comprehensible  system — and 
there's  a  lang-nebbit  word  for  you  too,  my  braw  Captain. 

Odoherty.  Well  then,  just  to  please  Hogg,  Gentlemen  of  the  Press, 
I  shall  tip  the  company  a  French  chanson — new — original — unpub- 
lished— fresh  from  the  pen  of  my  good  friend  Beranger — the  very 
last  thing  Beranger  has  done. 

Tickler.  Ha  !  I've  seen  very  little  of  his  works, — they  say  he's  the 
Tommy  Moore  of  France.* 

Odoherty.  Why,  he  wants  Tommy's  delicacy  and  bright  fancy;  but 
then  he  perhaps  has  more  spirit  with  him  than  Tommy.  He  has 
written  some  abominable  things  in  the  licentious  way ;  but  so,  to  be 
sure,  has  Tom  Moore. 

TicMer.  Ah  !  but  has  he  repented,  or  at  least  refrained,  like  your 
amiable  countryman  ? 

Odoherty.  I  don't  wish  to  chatter  about  humbugs  just  now.  I 
shall  give  you  the  chanson  I  spoke  of,  and  you  will  see,  that  it  at 
least  is  as  pure  as  if  Hogg  himself  had  indited  the  goodly  matter. 

TicMer.  The  Edinburgh  Reviewers,  I  think,  say,  that  Beranger  is 
"  the  Poet  of  the  People."     Is  he  so  very  popular  then  ? 

Odoherty.  Popular  he  is ;  but  not  with  the  People^  nor  is  he  the 
least  in  their  line.     So  far  from  that  indeed,  that  he  is  far  too  deep  in 

*  Beranger,  the  greatest  song-writer  France  ever  had,  was  born  in  1780.  The  brilliant  suc- 
cesses of  France,  under  young  Bonaparte,  excited  him  into  composition,  and  no  man  did  more 
for  the  nationality  of  Frenchmen.  He  did  not  flatter  Napoleon  even  in  the  fulness  of  his 
power.  When  the  Bourbons  returned — forgetting  nothing  and  having  learned  nothing — he 
sang  the  strains  of  Freedom.  For|liis  he  was  prosecuted,  fined,  and  confined.  Under  Louis 
Philippe  he  did  not  fare  much  better.  The  Revolution  of  1S4S  brought  the  old  poet  into  public 
life,  and  he  was  elected  a  member  of  the  National  Assembly — but  Age  and  the  Song  had  stronger 
claims  than  Politics,  and  he  gladly  returned  to  private  life.  He  lives  at  Passy,  near  Paris,  in 
honorable  and  happy  retirement.— M. 


300  NOCTES  AIUBROSIAN^.  [May, 

his  allusions  for  tlie  worshipful  Reviewers  themselves,  seeing  that  they 
quoted  as  a  specimen  of  a  "  Poet  of  the  People,"  a  verse  with  a  most 
indecent  allusion,  touching  the  Jesuits — the  which,  it  is  right  manifest, 
neither  the  critic  himself,  nor  the  editor,  could  have  understood. 

Hogg.  You  may  be  sure,  the  lads  just  acted  upon  my  principle. 

Odoherty.  Well,  I  wish  they  would  act  upon  your  principle  only 
concerning  our  own  books,  and  not  make  us  a  laughing-stock  among 
the  outlandish — but  now  for  the  chanson.     (Sings.) 

l'ombee  d'anacreon. 

Air  :  de  la  Sentinelle. 

Un  jeune  Grec  s'ecrit  a  des  tombeaux: 
Victoire  !  il  dit ;  I'eclio  redit :  Victoire ! 
O  demi-dieux,  vous  nos  premiers  flambeaux, 
Trompez  le  Styx  et  voyez  notre  gloire. 

Soudain  sous  nn  ciel  enchante 

Une  ombre  apparait  et  s'ecrie : 

Doux  enfant  de  liberie,  (bis.) 

Le  plaisir  vent  une  patrie, 
Une  patrie. 

O  peuple  Grec,  c'est  moi  dont  les  destiiis 
Furent  si  doux  chez  tes  ayeux  si  braves  ; 
Quand  il  chantait  I'amour  dans  les  festias, 
Anacreon  en  chassait  les  esclaves. 

Jamais  la  tendre  volupte 

N'approcha  d'une  dme  fletrie. 

Doux  enfant  de  la  liberty,        (bis.) 

Le  plaisir  veut  une  patrie, 
Une  patrie. 

De  I'aigle  encore  I'aile  rase  les  cieux, 
Du  rossignol  les  chants  sont  toujours  tendres ; 
Toi,  peuple  Grec,  tes  arts,  tes  lois,  tes  dieux, 
Qu'en  as  tu  fait,  qu'as-tu  fait  de  nos  cendres  ? 

Tes  fetes  passent  sans  gaiete, 

Sur  une  rive  encore  fleurie. 

Doux  enfant  de  la  liberty,         (bis.) 

Le  plaisir  veut  une  patrie, 
Une  patrie. 

D^ja  vainqueur,  cbante  et  vole  au  danger, 
Brise  tes  fers,  tu  le  peux  si  tu  I'oses : 
Sur  nos  debris,  quoi !  le  vil  etranger 
Dort  enivre  du  parfum  de  tes  roses ! 

Quoi !  payer  avee  la  beaut6 

Un  tribut  a  la  barbaric  1 

Doux  enfant  de  la  liberty,        (bis,) 

Le  plaisir  veut  une  patrie, 
Une  patrie. 


1823.]  BEEANGER.  301 

C'est  trop  rougir  aux  yeux  du  voyageur, 
Qui  d'Olympie  evoque  la  memoire. 
Frapj)e,  et  ces  bords,  ati  gre  d'uu  ciel  -fengeur, 
Reverdiront  d'abondance  et  de  gloire. 

Des  tyrans  le  sang  deteste 

EechaufFe  tine  terre  appauvrie  ; 

Doux  enfant  de  la  liberte,  {bis.) 

Le  plaisir  veut  une  patrie, 
Une  patrie. 

A  tes  voisins  n'emprunte  que  du  fer, 
Tout  peuple  eselave  est  allie  perfide. 
Mars  va  farmer  des  feux  de  Jupiter, 
Cher  a  Venus  son  etoile  te  guide. 

Bacchus,  dieu  toujours,  indompt^, 

Remplira  la  coupe  tarie. 

Doux  enfant  de  la  liberte,  {bis.) 

Le  plaisir  veut  une  patrie, 
Une  patrie. 

II  se  rendort,  le  sage  de  Theos  ...... 

La  Grece  enfin  suspend  ses  funerailles, 
Thebes,  Corinthe,  Athene,  Sparte,  Argos, 
.    Ivres  d'espoir,  exhumez  vos  murailles ; 
Vos  vierges  meme  ont  repete 
Ces  mots  d'une  voix  attendrie, 
Doux  enfant  de  la  liberte,          {bis.) 
Le  plaisir  veut  une  patrie, 
Une  patrie. 

Hogg.  A  bonny  tune,  and,  I  daursay,  a  bonny  sang  too.  What 
was't  a'  aboot,  sirs  ? 

Tickler.  Love  and  country,  and  so  forth.     The  shade  of 

Hogg.  I  daursay  it's  just,  plunder't  out  o'  my  Perils.'^  Does  it 
mention  ony  thing  aboot  a  bonny  lassie,  and  the  flowers  and  the 
gloaming  ? 

Tickler.  These  are  all  alluded  to,  Mr.  Hogg. 

Hogg.  And  the  birds  singing  ? 

Tickler.  Yes,  that  too,  I  think. 

Odoherty  (singing). 

"  Du  Rossignol  les  chants  sont  toujom's  tendres, 
Toi,  peuple  Grec ! " 

Hogg.  Na,  na — time  about's  fair  play,  Captain.  YeVe  gien  us  the 
copy — I  think  I  may  be  allood  to  gie  you  the  original ;  for  I'm  sure 
the  French  thiaf  has  just  been  takin'  every  idea  I  had  frae  me — I 
mean 

*  Hogg's  "  Three  PerUs  of  Man."--M. 


303 


NOCTES    AMBROSIAN^. 


[Mat, 


Odoherhj.  Ha!  a  new  light ! — Beranger,  too,  robbing  Hogg  ! — But 
begin,  begin,  dear  James. 

Hogg.  Ae  mair  round  of  the  bottles  ere  I  begin — {Drinks  a  bumper 
of  toddy). — Ay,  now — my  whistle  will  do  now. — (Sings.) 

Come,   all     ye     jol    -  ly      shep-herds  that  whis-tle     thro'  the    glen,    I'll 

tr 


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tell    ye    of       a      se  -  cret  that  courtiers  din -na  ken.  What  is     the  great-est 


bliss   that   the  tongue  of      man  can  name  ? 'Tis   to      woo    a      bon  -  ny 


^S^S§P^^E^5g^^5E^i 


las  -  sie    when  the  kye     come  hame.    When  the  kye  com«  hame,  when  the 


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kye  come  hame,  'Tween  the  gloaming  an'  the     mirk,  when  the  kye  come  hame. 

'Tis  not  beneath  the  bnrgonet,  nor  yet  beneath  the  crown, 
'Tis  not  on  couch  of  velvet,  nor  yet  in  bed  of  down — 
'Tis  beneath  the  spreading  birch,  in  the  dell  without  the  name, 
Wi'  a  bonny,  bonny  lassie,  when  the  kye  come  hame. 

{Chorus^  lads.) 

When  the  kye  come  hame,  when  the  kye  come  hame, 
'Tween  the  gloaming  an'  the  mirk,  when  the  kye  come  hame. 

There  the  blackbird  bigs  his  nest  for  the  mate  he  lo'es  to  see, 
And  up  upon  the  topmost  bough,  oh,  a  happy  bird  is  he ! 

*  The  song,  by  Hogg,  was  very  popular,  not  only  in  Ettrick  Forest,  but  in  all  the  rural  dis- 
tricts of  Scotland.  The  refrain  originally  was,  "  When  the  kye  comes  hame,"  but  some  of  the 
Shepherd's  critical  friends  pointed  out  to  him  that,  as  the  nominative  and  the  verb  should 
agree,  the  singular  co7nes  was  not  in  accordance  with  the  plural  ^ye.  Hogg  accordingly  re- 
moved the  superfluous  and  peccant  s.  When  next  the  song  was  printed  it  had  the  correction, 
and  the  words  were,  "  Wlien  the  kye  come  hame,"— but  his  rural  admirers  refused  to  adopt 
the  alteration,  which  they  said  was  "  dreadfu'  afifeckit,"  and,  to  this  hour,  the  words  are  sung 
as  originally  written.  Hogg  used  to  relate  this  anecdote  with  great  glee,  in  justiflcation  of 
his  unmitigated  and  undisguised  contempt  of  verbal  criticism. — M. 


1823.]  "when   the   eye    COME    HAME.  '  303 

There  he  pours  his  melting  ditty,  and  love  'tis  a'  the  theme, 
And  he'll  woo  his  bonny  lassie  when  the  kye  come  hame. 
When  the  kye  come  hame,  (fee. 

When  the  bluart  hears  a  peai'l,  and  the  daisy  turns  a  pea. 
And  the  bonny  lueken  go  wan  has  fouldit  up  his  ee, 
Then  the  lavrock  frae  the  bluelift  drops  down,  and  thinks  nae  shame 
To  woo  his  bonny  lassie  when  the  kye  come  hame^ 
When  the  kye  come  hame,  &c. 

Then  the  eye  shines  sae  bright,  the  hail  soul  to  beguile, 
There's  love  in  every  whisper,  and  joy  in  every  smile: 
O  wha  wad  choose  a  crown,  wi'  a'  its  perils  and  its  fame, 
And  miss  a  bonny  lassie  when  the  kye  come  hame  ? 
When  the  kye  come  hame,  &c. 

See  yonder  pawky  shepherd  that  lingers  on  the  hill. 
His  ewes  are  in  the  fauld,  and  his  lambs  are  lying  still ; 
Yet  he  downa  gang  to  bed,  for  his  heart  is  in  a  flame, 
To  meet  his  bonny  lassie  when  the  kye  come  hame. 
When  the  kye  come  hame,  (fee. 

Away  wi'  fame  and  fortune,  what  comfort  can  they  gie  ? 
And  a'  the  arts  that  prey  on  man's  life  and  liberty : 
Gie  me  the  highest  joy  that  the  heart  of  man  can  frame, 
My  bonny,  bonny  lassie,  when  the  kye  come  hame. 

When  the  kye  come  hame,  (fee.  {Much  applause.) 

Odoherty.  Upon  my  honor,  'tis  admirable.  Why,  when  did  you 
make  this,  Hogg?  You  have  done  nothing  so  sweet  these  three 
years. 

Hogg.  An'  ye  never  saw  nor  heard  it  afore  ? 

Odoherty.  'Not  I — how  should  I? 

Hogg.  Ye  invincible  ne'er-do-weel !  and  yet  you  reviewed  my  Three 
Perils  o'  Man  for  two  reviews,  and  three  newspapers  forbye. 

Odoherty.  Well,  and  what  is  that  to  the  purpose  ? 

Hogg.  Not  much,  I  confess — only  the  next  time  ye're  for  reviewing 
an  author,  ye  might  maybe  come  as  braw  speed  if  ye  began  wi'  read- 
ing his  book. — Tak'  ye  that  hint,  my  noble  Captain? 

Odoherty  (a  little  confused).  Why,  is  it  possible?  I  really  can 
scarce  swallow  you,  Hogg. — Is  that  song  in  "  The  Three  Perils  of 
Man  ?" — You  are  thinking  of  "  The  Three  Perils  of  Woman,"  an't  ye  ? 

Hogg.  Fient  a  bit  o'  me.  In  the  book  of  "  The  Three  Perils  of 
Man" — the  third  volume  thereof,  and  the  19th  page,  you  will  find  it 
written  as  I  have  sung  unto  you. 

Odoherty  (aside  to  Tickler).  I  never  saw  the  book — hang  it ! 

Tickler  {tip)ping  the  Adjutant  the  wink).  Come,  Hogg,  don't  be  too 
severe  upon  Odoherty.  The  song  is  a  good  deal  altered  since  then, 
and  much  for  the  better.  As  it  stands  in  the  novel,  if  I  recollect 
right,  it  begins  with  some  trash  about  "  Tarry  wooV  and  "  whistling 


804  NOCTES   AMBROSIANJE.  [Mat, 

at  the  plow."  The  Standard-bearer  might  easily  think  the  song  a 
new  one. 

Hogg.  I'se  no  deny  that — for  to  tell  you  the  plain  fact,  Christopher, 
I  had  clean  forgotten't  mysel'.  When  the  book  was  sent  out  a'  printed 
to  Yarrowside,  od !  I  just  read  the  maist  feck  on't  as  if  I  had  never 
seen't  afore ;  and  as  for  that  sang  in  particular,  I'll  gang  before  the 
Baillies  the  morn,  and  tak'  my  affidavy  that  I  had  no  more  mind  o' 
when  I  wrote  it,  or  how  I  wrote  it,  or  ony  thing  whatever  concerning  it 
— no  more  than  if  it  had  been  a  screed  o'  heathen  Greek.  I  behoved 
to  have  written't  sometime,  and  someway,  since  it  was  there — but  that's 
a'  I  kent.  I  maun  surely  hae  flung't  aff  some  night  when  I  was  a 
thought  dazed,  and  just  sent  it  in  to  the  printer  without  looking  at  it 
in  the  morning.  I  declare  I  just  had  to  learn  the  words  or  I  could 
sing  the  sang,  as  if  they  had  been  Soothey's,  Tarn  Muir's,  or  some 
other  body's,  and  no  my  ain. 

Odoherty.  Coleridge .  over  again,  for  all  the  world,  and  the  Black- 
stone  of  Blarney — "  a  psychological  curiosity,"  Hogg !  Take  one  hint, 
however,  and  henceforth  always  write  your  songs  when  you  are  dazed, 
as  you  call  it — Hihernice,  when  you  are  in  a  state  of  civilation.* 

Hogg  (testily).  Thank  ye,  Captain.  I  need  scarcely  be  after  bidding 
you  read  the  songs  I  write,  when  you  find  yourself  in  that  same  honor- 
able and  praiseworthy  condition. 

Odoherty  {rings).  Hallo — Champagne  there  !  Cool  this  fellow  with 
something  that  has  been  in  the  ice-pail.  This  eternal  hot  toddy  is 
setting  his  bristles  on  edge.  {Enter  Ambrose)  Champagne  there, 
Ambrose ! 

Kempferhausen.  Champagner  !  champagner  for  Hogg.  Ha !  that's 
your  sort !  what  for  a  cork  ! 

Hogg.  Eh  !  siccan  a  clunk  as  that  chiel's  loupit  awa  wi' !  There — 
hand  yer  hand,  Mr.  Ambrose-^eh  !  siccan  a  ream  ! "   {Drinks) 

Odoherty  {drinking).  I  pledge  you,  my  Chaldean  Shepherd.  Well, 
the  wine  is  prime.     Ferguson  for  ever,  say  I ! 

Hogg.  Oh  dear  !  I  never  faund  ony  thing  sae  gude  since  ever  I  was 
born — heh,  there's  anither  glassfu'  there  yet,  Mr.  Ambrose.  This  way, 
bring't  this  way,  man !  Oh,  dear !  what  a  wagang  !  What  may  it 
come  to  the  dozen  now,  Mr.  Ambrose  ?  {Ambrose  ivhispers  the  Shep- 
herd)— Losh  keep  us  a' ! — Losh  keep  us  a' ! — heh  me  ! 

Kempferhauscn.  O,  what  for  a  groaning  and  sighing  ! — what  is  the 
wish  to  you,  Herr  Hogg  ? 

Hogg.  Just  that  a  body  could  get  that  same  at  three  bawbees  the 
bottle. 

Tickler.  I  suppose  you  would  never  think  of  small  beer  with  your 
porridge  again  ? 

•  .4*ifl'Wcd— Half-seas  over.— M. 


1823.] 


DINNER   AT   YARROW.  305 


Hogg.  Na,  faith  I — nor  tryacle  neitlier — no,  nor  porter  and  sugar, 
which  is  better  than  tryacle  ony  day  in  the  year. 

Odoherty.  This  fellow  Champagne! — Come  now,  Hogg,  tell  me 
honestly  what  is  your  idea  of  a  really  luxurious  dinner  ?  Describe — 
describe. 

Hogg.-  Come  ye  out  our  way  i'  the  har'st,  and  I'll  spare  myself  the 
fash  of  descriptions.  Captain.  Let's  see — let's  see — what  suppose  I  set 
you  down  to  a  gaucy  tureenfu'  o'  hotch-potch,  or  hare-soup — remove 
that  wi'  a  sawmon,  just  out  o'  Yarrow — a  whacken  fellow  wi'  his  tail 
in  his  mouth — his  flesh  perfect  curds — and  then  a  thumpin'  leg  of 
blackface,*  maybe  with  gravy-juice  enough  in  him  to  drown  a  peck  o' 
mealy  potatoes- — or  what  wad  ye  say  to  a  tup's  head  and  trotters  ? — 
That's  the  way  we  live  in  Yarrow. — Match  us  in  Cork  or  Kilkenny,  if 
ye  can. 

Odoherty  (solemnly). 

"And  is  this  Yarrow?  this  the  stream 
Of  which  my  fancy  cherished 
So  beautiful  a  waking  dream, 
A  vision  which  hath  perished." 

Hogg.  What  says  the  lad  ? 

Odoherty.  Well,  then,  I  say  with  Mr.  Wordsworth — 

"  Whate'er  betide,  we'll  turn  aside, 
And  see  the  braes  of  Yarrow." 

Hogg.  That's  a  man. — I  thought  I  could  busk  a  fly  that  would 
please  your  e'e,  you  saucy  ane — but  come,  come,  wha's  ready  wi'  a 
stave  ? — Mr.  Kemperhausen,  the  call  is  for  you. 

Kempferhausen  {sings). 

Der  wind  geht  durch  die  Baiime ; 

Aus  grunen  Schatten  schwebt 
Die  milde  schaar  der  traiime 

Aus  Luft  und  Lust  gewebt. 
"  "Was  bringt  ihr  aus  der  feme 

Und  locket  mich  zur  Ruh  ? 
Spriicht  ihr  von  Leibgen,  gerne 

Driickt  ich  die  Augen  zu !" 

Hogg.  Awfu'  toothbreakers  !  wheesht,  wheesht. 

Kempferhausen.  Well,  very  well,  mein  Herr  Hogg.  Ich  sange 
nichts  niehr — Potztausend  ! 

Odoherty.  D German  ! — Dr.  Mullion,  what  are  you  ruminat- 
ing ? — And  you.  Tickler,  what  book  is  that  you  are  fumbling  with  ? 

*  The  Black-faced  sheep  are  found  to  thrive  so  extremely  well  on  the  Scottish  hills,  that  tho 
breed  has  become  very  general. — M. 


306  KOOTES  AMBROSIAJSTJE.  [Mat, 

Tickler.  Only  tlie  last  Edinburgh.  I  was  thinking  we  should  come 
the  cat-o'-nine-tails  across  some  of  these  scamps. 

Odoherty.  With  pleasure,  Mr.  Tickler — hand  me  the  pamphlet  if 
you  are  agreeable.  Ay,  here  it  is !  what  a  deuced  piece  of  humbug 
is  this  opening  article. 

Tickler.  Of  course  it  is — but  why  are  you  so  particularly  moved, 
Adjutant  ? 

Odoherty.  Hibernicus  sum ;  nihil  Hibernici  a  me  alienum  puto. 

Tickler.  0,  you  expected  something  about  your  dear  countrymen, 
and  the  Marquis  of  Wellesley — did  you  ? 

Odoherty.  Your  ears  for  a  moment,  Mr.  Croupier — and  you,  good 
Gentlemen  of  the  Press,  your  ears. 

Hogg.  The  Captain's  going  to  make  a  speech — fill  a'  your  glasses. 

Tickler.  Hush  ! — hush  ! — out  with  it,  then,  Odoherty. 

Odoherty.  We  are  told  that  there  are  tricks  in  all  trades,  so  well 
understood  by  the  public,  as  to  take  off  all  moral  imputation  of  false- 
hood. We  are  told,  for  instance,  that  it  is  intolerable  to  accuse  of  low 
mendacity  a  man  of  letters,  even  though  no  tradesman,  for  palming  off, 
as  a  second  edition,  the  heavy  remainder  of  a  first  impression  garnished 
by  an  additional  half  sheet  of  superfluous  stuff.  Be  it  so ;  but  of  all 
the  tricks  of  trade  with  which  I  happen  to  be  acquainted,  the  trickery 
of  the  announcement  of  this  leadiqg  article  of  No.  '75  of  the  Edinburgh 
Review,  is  the  most  barefaced.  For  weeks  before  its  appearance,  the 
newspapers  were  filled  with  interesting  paragraphs,  headed  with  "  We 
are  able  to  announce  the  contents  of  the  forthcoming  Number,"  &c. — 
Such,  gentlemen,  such  are  the  Day-and-Martin  manoeuvres  to  which  this 
once  famed  Journal  is  reduced ;  and,  in  due  course  of  time,  this  demi- 
official  information  was  ratified  by  the  more  regular  announcement  by 
advertisement,  penned,  of  course,  by  the  same  hand  that  gave  the 
important  intelligence  in  the  former  shape.  In  all  these,  this  first 
article  was  placarded  as  "Art.  I. — Reflections  on  the  State  of  Ireland  in 
the  Nineteenth  Century." 

Tickler.  I  remember  well,  that  all  this  was  as  you  have  been  saying. 
Such  were  the  advertisements. 

Odoherty.  And  what  title  could  just  now  be  more  taking  ?  I  speak 
for  myself. — Vast  visions  of  bottles  and  rattles  floated  before  my  men- 
tal optics* — my  mind  yearned  to  hear  the  Whig  Oracle's  opinion  of 
ex-ojlcio  informations,  after  the  Grand  Inquest  of  the  country  had 

*  The  Marquis  Wellesley,  elder  brother  of  "  the  Duke,"  was  sent  to  Ireland,  in  1821,  as  Vice- 
roy. It  was  known  that  he  had  a  strong  desire  to  see  the  Roman  Catholics  relieved,  by  the 
removal  of  certain  disabilities  of  which  they  long  and  loudly  had  complained.  This  political 
leaning  made  Lord  Wellesley  unpopular  with  the  Orangemen,  and  the  Dublin  Corporation,  then 
exclusively  composed  of  ultra-Protestants.  At  the  theatre,  one  night,  some  ruffians  of  this 
party  threw  a  bottle  at  him,  from  the  gallery,  and  very  nearly  struck  him.  Arrests  were  made, 
and  bills  of  indictment  preferred  ;  the  Grand  Jury  issued  the  bills.  Mr.  Plunket,  then  Attorney 
General,  presided  ex-q^cio,  but  the  Government,  alarmed  at  the  prospect  of  defeat,  never 
brought  the  accused  to  trial,  and  thus  gave  a  triumph  to  the  Orangemen..— M. 


1823.]  SCOTCH   TITHES.  30T 

ignored  the  bills — I  longed  to  liear  how  the  staunch  advocates  of  the 
Revolution  of  1688  would  treat  the  memory  of  William  III. — I  ex- 
pec  ted  savory  remarks  on  the  Beef-steaks — and,  in  general,  looked  for 
somewhat  ingenious  and  piquant  on  Forbes,  Stand wich,  Graham, 
Daniel  O'Connell,  Mr.  Plunket,  Major-General  Sir  John  Rock,  K.C.B. 
— cum  multis  aliis. 

Tickler.  So  did  the  public. 

Odoherty.  And  what  did  the  purchaser,  who  sported  his  six  shil- 
lings, or,  to  speak  Hibernically,  his  six  and  sixpence,*  on  the  strength 
of  being  "  pleased  with  a  rattle,  tickled  with  a  bottle,"  as  Pope  remarks, 
get  for  his  money  ? 

Hogg.  I  wonder  what  it  could  be  ? 

Odoherty.  You  need  not  waste  your  time  in  guessing,  for  you  would 
not  hit  it  in  a  thousand  years.  In  fact,  nothing  more  or  less  than  the 
"  History  and  Settlement  of  Tithes  in  Scotland  !"  which  is  the  running 
title  at  the  head  of  the  pages  in  the  Review ;  but  which,  if  announced 
beforehand,  would  have  most  effectually  damaged  the  sale. 

Hogg.  I'm  no  that  sure — I  wad  like  to  see  the  article  for  ane. 

Odoherty.  You  would  like — -pooh  !  pooh  !  Who,  beyond  the  par- 
ties concerned — the  poorly  paid  minister,  the  financial  elder,  the  grip- 
ing heritor,  and  the  blethering  advocate — cares  the  end  of  a  fig  about 
the  history  or  the  details  of  such  an  affair  ?  The  Kirk  of  Scotland  is  a 
most  excellent  church  beyond  doubt,  but  it  is  also  beyond  doubt,  that 
all  this  prate  about  rescissory  statutes,  teind  records.  Lords  of  Erec- 
tions, laicke  patrons,  &c.  &c.,  is  altogether  balaam,  of  most  unques- 
tioned description.  -To  be  sure,  the  scribe  endeavors  to  connect  the 
lumber,  by  a  kind  of  apropos  des  bottes,  with  the  fraudulent  title  ad- 
vertised in  the  newspapers,  by  means  of  a  head  and  tail-piece ;  which 
have,  however,  all  the  appearance  of  coming  from  another  hand.  It 
appears,  by  his  account,  that  the '  people  who  have  a  design  upon  the 
revenues  of  the  English  and  Irish  churches,  wish  for  as  much  informa- 
tion as  possible,  on  the  most  approved  practical  method  of  doing  the 
business.  "Their  expectation,"  quoth  the  Balaamite,  "is  reasonable, 
and  we  hope  the  information  may  not  be  altogether  without  advan- 
tage ! ! !"  Was  there  ever  a  more  stupid  piece  of  make-believe  at- 
tempted to  be  played  off?  These  worthy  characters  care  Httle  about 
the  arrangements  of  the  kirk,  having  a  very  pretty  sweeping  plan  of 
their  own  already.  Andrew  Fairservice  remarked  long  ago,  that  the 
Kirk  of  Scotland  would  not  be  the  worse  for  it,  if  the  dwellings  of  its 
clergy  were  made  something  more  nearly  equal  to  the  dog-kennels  of 
the  fox-hunting  squires  of  England.     But  the  present  radical  church- 

*  Until  the  year  1825,  every  English  shilling,  of  twelve  pence  sterling,  passed  for  thirteen 
pence  in  Ireland.  The  gain  was  exactly  forty  cents,  or  one  shilling  and  eight  pence  sterling, 
upon  each  pound.  An  act  was  passed  to  assimilate  the  currency,  and  the  British  coinage, 
then  first  introduced  at  no  more  than  its  real  value,  was  familiarly  spoken  of  as  "Breeches 
Money." — M. 


308  NOCTES  AMBEOSIAN^.  [May, 

reformers  would  take  care  to  leave  the  parson  no  dwelling  at  all, 
which  is  a  simplification  of  the  system.  In  truth,  as  has  been  long 
ago  observed  by  a  better  authority  than  mine,  there  are  so  many 
points  of  dissimilitude  between  the  circumstances  of  the  two  countries, 
that  analogies  drawn  between  their  Church  establishments  stand  on 
very  insecure  ground. 

Tickler.  The  ti^ue  history  of  the  article  is  this — Jeffrey  had  picked 
up  a  dull  paper  on  Scotch  tithes  fi'om  some  hum-drum  contributor 

Odoherty,  Whom  he  should  immediately  present  a  bl.  note,  a  good 
character  for  sobriety,  and  his  discharge. 

TicJder.  —And  Jeffrey  thought  he  could  make  the  young  idiot 

go  down  by  giving  his  effusion  a  catching  name.  That's  all,  Odo- 
herty. 

Odoherty.  Even  so,  Timotheus — nor  is  the  trick  a  new  one.  We 
are  often  baulked  the  same  way  in  the  newspapers,  where  you  are  se- 
duced into  reading  a  paragraph  by  the  attractive  heading  of  "  A  Great 
Personage  not  long  ago  remarked,"  or  "  It  is  strange  that  when  Mr. 
Canning  so  pointedly  told  Mr.  Brougham  that  his  assertion  was  false," 
or  "  Sir  James  Mackintosh  and  Mr.  Geralu,"  &c.,  and  find,  after  all, 
that  its  scope  and  tendency  is  to  recommend  Prince's  Ptussian  Oil,  or 
Tom  Bish's  tickets  and  shares. 

Tickler.  What  think  you  of  the  article  on  the  two  poems  about  the 
angels  ? 

Odoherty.  This  I  beg  leave  to  skip  altogether.  Jeffrey  has  certain 
reasons  to  be  civil  to  both  Moore  and  Byron ;  and  here  we  have  a 
little  small  criticism,  puffing  their  last  poems.  It  is  the  production 
of  a  fourth-rater.  I  have  read  critiques  as  deep  in  Ackerman's  Re- 
pository.* 

Tickler.  You  won't  say  that  of  Brougham's  article  on  Grattan  ? 

Odoherty.  ISTo,  no — the  article  is  full  of  talent — of  such  talent  as 
Mr,  Brougham  possesses — and,  to  say  truth,  I  loved  old  Grattan,  and 
I  like  very  well  to  see  him  puffed,  even  by  such  a  man  as  Brougham ; 
for  Brougham,  though  a  Whig,  is  not  a  goose. 

Tickler.  How  shabby  is  the  notice  of  Croly  ! 

Odoherty.  Right  shabby  certainly,  and  right  shallow  at  the  same 
time,  as  I  shall  show  you.  Brougham,  if  you  observe,  sets  out  with 
abusing  my  good  friend  young  Grattan  for  publishing  panegyrics  on 
his  father,  written  by  men  of  various  abilities,  but  particularly  for  giv- 
ing to  the  world  that  by  "  a  certain  Bev.  Mr.  Croly ^  whoever  Jie  6e." 
This  little  impertinence  is  in  the  same  taste  as  the  "  Ricardus  quidam 
Bentleius"  of  Alsop,  a  forgotten  prig ;  but  in  his  day,  just  as  conceited 
as  the  pertest  reviewer  in  the  pack.  It  is  with  no  pride  I  say  it,  but 
it  is  undeniable  that  such  will  be  the  fate  of  the  reviewing  tribe  in 

♦  A  magazine  exclusively  devoted  to  fashions  and  mantua-makers'  literature. — M. 


1823.]  HENRY   GEATTAN.  809 

general ;  and  in  particular,  when  it  will  be  altogether  forgotten  that 
such  an  article  as  this  review  of  Grattan's  speeches  had  ever  existence, 
the  genius  and  talents  of  this  "  certain  Rev.  Mr.  Croly,  whoever  he 
be,"  will  have  secured  him  an  honorable  place  among  the  great  names 
of  English  literature.*  But,  look  ye,  the  mock  ignorance  of  the  re- 
viewer is  rendered  quite  comical  by  the  naivete  of  the  avowal  in  the 
next  page.  He  was  induced,  he  says,  to  cut  up  Mr.  Croly,  not  because 
he  is  an  obscure  and  unknown  scribbler,  but  because  "  there  has  been 
shown  such  a  disposition  to  puff  him  in  certain  quarters^  As  it  so 
happens  that  these  "  certain  quarters"  have  ten  times  more  circulation^ 
and  twenty  times  more  weight  among  the  literary  world  than  the  ve- 
hicle which  contains  the  opinions  of  this  sage  critic,  there  is  something 
irresistibly  droll  in  his  pretending  not  to  know  who  the  object  of  theii* 
panegyric,  or  puff — no  matter  about  a  word — can  possibly  be.  As  to 
his  abuse  of  Croly's  splendid  character  of  Grattan,  as  it  merely  con- 
sists in  tearing  a  brilliant  sentence  or  two  from  their  context,  and, 
after  garbling  them,  then  venting  some  little  absurdities  at  their  ex- 
pense— there  is  no  more  to  be  said  on  the  occasion. 

Hogg.  Croly  need  never  fash  his  thumb  about  what  the  like  o'  them 
says.  Will  ony  of  them  ever  write  a  "Paris  in  1815,"  or  a  "Cati« 
line  ?" 

Odbherty.  Some  of  them  might  be  more  likely  to  act  a  Paris  in 
1792,  or  to  act  a  Catiline.f  But  to  proceed — "Even-handed  justice 
returns  the  poisoned  chalice  to  our  own  lips."  According  to  Brough- 
am, one  of  the  chief  excellencies  of  Grattan  is,  his  tremendous  power 
of  invective.  He  is  not  less  enraptured  with  the  unsparing  use  he 
made  of  this  foul-mouthed  faculty.  Now  I  shall  confess,  that  I,  for 
one,  rank  fish-wife  oratory  somewhat  low,  but  yet  T  do  not  object  to 
other  people's  criticising  according  to  their  propensities.  He  quotes 
with  delight  Mr.  Grattan's  celebrated  reply  to  Mr.  Corry  in  1800,  and 
in  truth,  it  must  be  allowed  to  be  most  classical  and  well-turned  Bil- 
lingsgate. Corry,  on  the  authority  of  a  sworn  evidence,  before  the 
Irish  House  of  Lords,  had  stigmatized  Grattan  as  being  in  some  de- 
gree connected  with  the  bloody  rebellion  of  1798,  to  which  Grattan 
replied  in  a  torrent  of  abuse,  in  which  this  sentence  occurs : 

"He  has  charged  me  with  being  connected  with  the  rebels — 
the  charge  is  utterly,  totally,  and  meanly  false." 

For  saying  this  Mr.  Grattan  is  praised  by  Mr.  Brougham — I  sup- 
pose so — but  at  least  by  one  of  Mr.  Brougham's  coadjutors  in  preach- 
ing Whiggery  through  this  Review.     Well,  the  book  was  scarcely  in 

*  The  Tories  allowed  Croly  to  continue  a  Curate,  though  his  pen  was  ever  employed  to  assert 
and  defend  their  principles  and  conduct.  It  was  Brougham,  when  Lord  Chancellor,  with 
Church-patronage  in  his  hands,  wlio— looking  on  Croly  as  a  man  of  genius,  and  laying  aside 
party  considerations— gave  him  the  Rectory  of  St.  Stephen's,  AValbrook,  London.— M. 

t  Croly's  tragedy  of  Catiline,  chiefly  based  on  one  of  Sallust's  brilliant  fragments  of  Roman 
hietory,  is  one  of  the  noblest  specimens  of  the  unacted  drama  ever  produced  in  England. — M. 


310  NOCTES  AMBROSIAl^^.  [Mat, 

London,  before  Mr.  Brougliam  made  an  attack  on  Mr.  Canning,  for 
truckling,  as  he  elegantly  termed  it,  to  the  Lord  Chancellor,  from  so 
mean  a  motive  as  desire  of  place ;  to  which  Mr.  Canning,  in  reply,  did 
not  foam  or  rant  like  Grattan,  but  simply  and  quietly  uttered  the  fol- 
lowing brief  sentence : 

"  I  SAY  THAT  THAT  IS  FALSE  !"* 

For  my  part,  looking  at  the  mere  taste  of  the  thing,  I  cannot  help 
saying,  that  I  think  Canning's  reply  far  superior.  It  goes  straight 
forward  to  the  point  at  once,  and  as  a  contradiction  was  all  that  either 
had  to  give,  so  every  word  that  did  not  convey  one  was  waste. 

Tickler.  I  can't  help  thinking  that  both  retorts  were  highly  unpar- 
liamentary— shockingly  so — quite  wrong.  But  perhaps  the  reporters 
are  alone  to  blame. 

Odoherty.  It  may  be  so — it  may  be  that  this  last  affair  is  newspaper 
fudge.  But  grant  Grattan  and  Canning  to  have,  both  of  them,  really 
made  these  retorts — and  grant  both  of  them  to  have  been  highly  un- 
parliamentary retorts,  sti]l  there  is  this  marked  and  characteristic 
difference  between  the  cases.  No  tumult  was  made  about  the  circum- 
stance in  the  Irish  Parliament ;  the  speech  is  reported  in  a  regular 
edition  of  the  orator's  works ;  the  Whig  reviewer  extols  the  eloquence 
of  the  retort  coolly  three-and-twenty  years  after  it  was  given.  There 
is,  in  short,  no  Tory  angry,  and  no  Whig  undelighted.  In  the  other 
case,  there  is  a  row,  the  Whigs  are  indignant,  their  newspapers  up- 
roarious, and  nothing  can  be  more  horrible  in  their  eyes  than  Mr. 
Canning's  indecorum,  quite  forgetting  the  panegyric  pronounced  on 
Grattan,  for  doing  precisely  the  same  thing,  by  their  principal  organ. 

Tickler.  You  may  just  reverse  your  second  last  sentence — there  is 
no  Whig  void  of  wrath,  and  no  Tory — we  mean  of  that  base  set 
among  us,  who  are  our  greatest  disgrace,  the  Pluckless — not  in 
mourning. 

Hogg.  Hoch  !  hoch  1  hoch  !  heegh  !  heegh  !  hoch  !  hoch  !  hoch  ! 

Odoherty.  One  word  more — I,  of  course,  know  nothing  of  the  facts 
of  the  case,  nor  pretend  to  pronounce  an  opinion  which  party  was 
right.  I  am  merely  criticising  the  oratorical  power  displayed  by 
Grattan  and  Canning.  I  know  not  whether  Corry  or  Brougham  was 
justifiable  in  the  charge  originally  made. 

Tickler.  Perhaps  the  whole  is  an  invention  of  the  Gentlemen  of  the 
Press. 

*  In  1822,  Canning — who  was  on  the  eve  of  going  into  splendid  exile,  as  Viceroy  of  India — 
was  appointed  Foreign  Secretary,  on  the  suicide  of  Lord  Londonderry.  The  Whig  party  were 
annoyed  at  his  joining  Lord  Liverpool's  ultra-Tory  administration,  and,  in  the  course  of  the  fol- 
lowing Session,  (in  1S23,)  Brougham  stigmatized  him  as  having  exhibited  the  most  incredible 
specimen  of  monstrous  trickery,  for  the  purpose  of  obtaining  office,  that  the  whole  history  of 
political  tergiversation  could  afford.  Canning  turned  white  as  a  -sheet,  (as  a  looker-on  in- 
formed me,)  and,  pointing  his  finger  at  Brougham,  exclaimed,  "  I  rise  to  say  that  that  is  false  !" 
Eventually,  it  appeared  that  the  retort  and  rejoinder  had  been  made  only  in  a  Pickwickian 
sense. — M. 


1823.]  ^  JOANNA   BAILLIE.  811 

Odoherty.  Hogg,  have  you  had  any  thing  to  do  with  this  ? 

Hogg.  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Hogg  kens  naething  about  the  Edin- 
burgh Review,  nor  Mr.  Brougham  neither — I  have  not  seen  a  paper 
this  month — and  as  for  the  Review,  that  Number's  the  first  I've  seen 
of  the  blue  and  yellow  these  twa  years,  I  believe. 

Odoherty.  No  great  loss.  But  choose  your  subject,  Chairman; 
what  have  you  seen  of  late  ? 

Hogg.  There's  for  ae  thing  The  Sextuple  Alliance.  Deevil  o'  siccan 
poem  ever  I  saw ;  but  the  dedication  is  capital. 

Odoherty.  What  is  it  ? 

Hogg.  See  there,  man. 

TO 

A  MAN  OF  LETTERS, 

A  MERCHANT,  POLITICIAN,  AND  ECONOMIST  ; 

A  GENTLEMAN 

WHO  MIGHT  BE  NAMED  TO  FOREIGNERS,  AS  A  MODEL  OF  AN  ENLIGHTENED 

AND  LIBERAL 

BRITISH    TRADER  ; 

A  JUST  AND  ZEALOUS  MAGISTRATE, 

AN  ESTIMABLE  PRIVATE  CITIZEN, 

AN  ABLE  WRITER, 

AND  ORIGINAL  THINKER  ; 

TO  THE   ROSCOE  AND  RICARDO  OF  GLASGOW, 

JAMES  EWING,  Esq., 

THESE  VERSES  ARE  RESPECTFULLY  DEDICATED, 
BY 

THEIR  AUTHORS. 

Odoherty.  Very  elegant,  and  most  appropriate.  Have  you  any 
thing  else  new  ? 

Hogg.  Let  me  think — ay,  there's  for  ae  thing.  Miss  Joanna  Baillie's 
Collection  of  Poems. 

Tickler.  Ha  !  I  had  not  heard  of  her  being  in  the  press.  Tragic,  I 
hope. 

Kempferhausen.  You  will  find  the  book  on  the  side-table,  I  believe, 
Tickler.  Yes — that's  it — that  octavo  in  greenish — you  will  see  that 
'tis  only  edited  by  Miss  Baillie,  although  there  are  several  pieces  of 
hers  included. 

Hogg.  And  some  very  bonny  pieces  amang  them — rax  me  the  vol- 
ume, Mr.  Tickler. 

Tickler.  With  your  leave,  Mr.  Hogg — just  let  me  look  over 'the 
index — ha !  "  Macduff's  Cross,  a  drama,  by  Sir  Walter  Scott."  What's 
this,  Hogg? 

Hogg.  Oo,  just  a  bit  hasty  sketch — but  some  grand  bits  in't,  man.* 

*  Early  in  1823,  Joanna  Baillie  published  a  collection  of  Poetical  Miscellanies,  in  which  ap- 
peared a  dramatic  sketch  by  Sir  W.  Scott,  entitled  "  Macduff's  Cross" — so  called  from  an  erec- 
tion (of  which  the  bottom-stone  or  socket  alone  remains  now)  on  which  was  recorded  the 
bounty  of  King  Malcolm  Gonmore  to  the  unborn  Thane  of  Fife.— M. 


812  NOCTES   AMBEOSIAK^.  »  [May, 

Od !  ony  body  else  could  liave  keepit  tlie  story  for  a  three  volume  job 
at  the  least.  Rax  me  the  book — thank  ye^  Tickler — now,  listen  to  this, 
— the  twa  priests  are  watching  at  the  sanctuary  of  the  Macduff's 
Cross,  when  twa  horsemen  are  seen  advancing — listen. 

"  See  how  tliey  strain  adown  the  opposing  hill ! 
Yon  gray  steed  bounding  on  the  headlong  path 
As  on  the  level  meadow — and  the  black, 
Urged  by  the  rider  with  his  naked  sword, 
Stoops  on  his  prey,  as  I  have  seen  the  falcon 
Dashing  upon  the  heron, — Thou  dost  frown, 
And  clench  thy  hand  as  if  it  grasped  a  weapon. 
***** 

'Tis  but  for  shame  to  see  one  man  fly  thus. 
While  only  one  pursues  him !     Coward!  turn." 

Odoherty.  Well  spouted.  Shepherd — and  admirable  lines  indeed — 
but  I'll  read  it  for  myself;  what  more  is  there  ? 

Hogg.  Whoay,  there's  almost  every  name  that's  a  name  ava  here, 
an  be  not  mine  ain  and  Byron's.  There's  Wordsworth — twa  sair  teugh 
sonnets  o'  his — and  Soothey,  Lord  keep  us  a' !  they're  the  maist  daft- 
like  havers  I  ever  met  wi',  the  lines  of  his  about  a  Linn. 

Odoherty.  Pass  the  Laureate — does  Coleridge  figure  ? 

Hogg.  No — no  wi'  his  name  at  ony  rate,  (I  had  clean  forgotten 
Coleridge.) — But  there's  Crabbe  and  Milman,  and  Mrs.  Grant,  and 
General  Dirom,  and  Miss  Holford,  and  John  Richardson. 

Tickler.  Ah!     "Otho?" 

Hogg.  And  ane  Sir  George  Beaumont,  that  Wordsworth  dedicates 
ane  of  his  poems  to — the  White  Doe  if  I  mind  right — and  Rogers,  and 
Hook. 

Odoherty.  What ! — Theodore  ?     Let's  hear  his  chant.*    ^ 

Hogg.  This  Hook's  a  minister — the  Reverend 

Odoherty.  Ah !  then  pass  him'  over,  for  I'm  sure  Theodore  is  not  in 
orders. 

Hogg.  And  Bowles,  and  Lady  Dacre,  and  Miss  Anna  Maria  Porter, 
and  Mrs.  Barbauld,  and  Mr.  Merivale.f 

Tickler.  Let's  hear  Merivale's  contribution. 

Hogg.  It's  ane  o'  the  very  best  in  the  book — 'tis  really  a  most  elegant 
poem,  but  rather  ower  lang  may  be  for  receetin  just  now.     Take  this 

*  It  was  Theodore  Hook's  cousin,  and  the  author  of  the  lively  romances  or  novels  (for  they 
are  of  a  mixed  character)  called  "  Pen  Owen,"  and  "  Percy  Mallory."— M. 

t  To  this  volume,  Miss  Catharine  Fanshawe  (described  by  Lockhart  as  "  a  woman  of  rare 
wit  and  genius,  in  whose  society  Scott  greatly  delighted")  contributed  some  jeux  (V esprit,  and 
William  Howison's  ballad  of  Polydore,  which  introduced  him  to  Scott,  when  a  mere  lad,  was 
also  among  the  contents.  The  John  Richardson,  in  the  above  list  of  writers,  was  Scott's  most 
intimate  friend  and  a  London  lawyer,  "  with  a  pretty  taste  for  poetry."  Miss  Holford  also 
wrote  verses.  General  Dirom  had  a  call  in  the  same  line.  Lady  Dacre  (whose  play  of  "Ina," 
performed  when  she  was  Mrs.  Wilmot,  was  a  failure)  afterwards  won  reputation  not  only  as  a 
translator  of  Petrarch  and  a  novelist,  but  as  an  amateur  sculptor.  She  died  in  May,  1854. 
The  others  are  too  well  known  to  need  more  particular  attention. — M. 


1823.]  THE   DEVONSHIRE   LANE.  3;|^3 

for  a  specimen,  now.  You  are  to  know  tliat  the  poem's  all  about  the 
scenery  on  a  water  called  the  Axe,  somewhere  in  England.  Are  not 
these  equal  to  Smollett's  Leven  Water  itself? 

"  Hail,  modest  streamlet,  on  whose  bank 
No  -willows  grow,  nor  osiers  dank ; 
Whose  waters  form  no  stagnant  poolj 
But  ever  sparkling,  pure  and  cool, 
Their  snaky  channel  keep  between 
Soft  swelling  hills  of  tender  green. 
That  freshens  still  as  they  descend, 
In  gradual  slope  of  graceful  bend, 
And  in  the  living  emerald  end. 
On  whose  soft  turf,  supinely  laid, 
Beneath  the  spreading  beechen  shade, 
I  trace,  in  Fancy's  waking  dream. 
The  current  of  thine  infant  stream." 

And  wi'  that  he's  awa  wi't  at  ance — celebrating  a'  the  auld  monaste- 
ries and  castles.  Od !  it  maun  be  a  bonny  classical  water.  I  could 
iust  have  thought  I  was  reading  about  Yarrow,  and  N'ewark,  and  Bow- 
hill,  and  a'  the  lave  o't. 

Odoherty.  They  seem  to  be  graceful  verses — I,  however,  should 
rather  have  likened  them  to  the  flow  of  Dyer,  or  Milton's  Penseroso, 
than  to  Smollett's  charming  ode. 

Hogg.  Na,  I'm  nae  critic.  I  ovAj  feel  that  Merivale  has  the  soul 
of  a  poet,  and  that  his  verse  is  delicious  music  to  my  ear.'*  I  meant 
nae  close  comparisons. 

Odoherty.  You  read  so  nobly  when  the  passage  suits  your  taste, 
that  you  would  make  any  thing  appear  beautiful. 

Hogg.  Nane  o'  your  quizzes,  Captain, — but  I'll  tell  ye  what,  I'm  no 
gaun  to  read  ony  mair  o't ;  but  if  ye  like,  I'se  try  to  sing  you  a  famous 
good  song  that's  in  this  book — a  real  good  song  of  Mr.  Marriott's — 
and  though  it's  about  a  Devonshire  lane,  it  would  just  do  as  weel  for 
an  Ettrick  Forest  "  Green  Loaning." 

Omnes.  Do — do — sing  away. 


'&• 


Hogg  {sings  to  the  tune  of  Derry  down). 


THE    DEVONSHIRE   LANE. 

In  a  Devonshire  lane,  as  I  trotted  along. 
T'other  day,  much  in  want  of  a  subject  for  song; 
Thinks  I  to  myself,  I  have  hit  on  a  strain, — 
Sure  marriage  is  much  like  a  Devonshire  lane. 

In  the  first  place,  'tis  long,  and  when  once  you  are  in  it, 
It  holds  you  as  fast  as  the  cage  holds  a  linnet; 

♦  Merivale  subsequently  translated  Schiller  and  Dante,  with  marked  success.— M. 
VOL.  I.  14 


314:  NOCTES   AMBEOSIAIS^^.  [Mat, 

For  howe'er  rough  and  dirty  the  road  may  be  found, 
Drive  forward  you  must,  since  there's  no  turning  round. 

But  though  'tis  so  long,  it  is  not  very  wide. 

For  two  are  the  most  that  together  can  ride; 

And  even  there  'tis  a  chance  but  they  get  in  a  pother. 

And  jostle  and  cross,  and  run  foul  of  each  other. 

Oft  Poverty  greets  them  with  mendicant  looks, 
And  Care  pushes  by  them  o'erladen  with  crooks, 
And  Strife's  grating  wheels  try  between  them  to  pass. 
Or  Stubbornness  blocks  up  the  way  on  her  ass. 

Then  the  banks  are  so  high,  both  to  left  haad  and  right, 
That  they  shut  up  the  beauties  around  from  the  sight; 
And  hence  you'll  allow,  'tis  an  inference  plain, 
That  Marriage  is  just  like  a  Devonshire  lane. 

But  thinks  I  too,  these  banks  within  which  we  are  pent. 
With  bud,  blossom,  and  bei^y,  are  richly  besprent ; 
And  the  conjugal  fence  which  forbids  us  to  roam. 
Looks  lovely,  when  deck'd  with  the  comforts  of  home. 

In  the  rock's  gloomy  crevice  the  bright  holly  grows. 

The  ivy  waves  fresh  o'er  the  withering  rose, 

And  the  ever-green  love  of  a  virtuous  wife 

Smooths  the  roughness  of  care — cheers  the  winter  of  life. 

Then  long  be  the  journey,  and  narrow  the  way ; 
I'll  rejoice  that  I've  seldom  a  turnpike  to  pay ; 
And  whate'er  others  think,  be  the  last  to  complain, 
Though  Marriage  is  just  like  a  Devonshire  lane. 

Odoherty.  Upon  my  word,  Devonshire  is  up  just  now. — Is  there 
much  humor  in  the  collection  ? 

Hogg.  Some  capital  jeesting  bits — particularly  some  riddles  and 
the  like.     What  think  you  of  this  on  a  pillion  ? 


Inscribed  on  many  a  learned  page, 
In  mystic  characters  and  sage. 

Long  time  vaj first  has  stood: 
And  though  its  golden  age  be  past. 
In  wooden  wall  it  yet  may  last 

Till  clothed  with  flesh  and  blood. 

My  second  is  a  glorious  prize 

For  all  who  love  their  wandering  eyes 

"With  curious  sights  to  pamper; 
But  'tis  a  sight,  which  should  they  meet 
All  improviso  in  the  street. 

Ye  gods!  how  they  would  scamper! 


1823.]  "the  liberal."  315 

^  -  My  toufs  a  sort  of  wandering  throne, 

To  woman  limited  alone, 

The  Salique  law  reversing ; 
But  while  th'  imaginary  queen 
Prepares  to  act  this  novel  scene, 

Her  royal  part  rehearsing, 
O'erturning  her  presumptuous  plan. 
Up  climbs  the  old  usurper — man. 
And  she  jogs  after  as  she  can. 

Odoherty.  "  Pillion  !"  Well,  that's  truly  excellent. — Well,  we're 
all  much  obliged  to  Mrs.  Baillie.  Toss  back  old  Kit's  octavo,  dear.  I 
shall  buy  one  of  them  for  myself,  to-morrow. 

Hogg.  There,  it's  just  hghted  on  the  bunker  1 

Odoherty.  Not  among  the  Liberals,  I  hope. — Ah !  'tis  safe.  Have 
you  seen  the  last  Pisan,"^  Hogg  ? 

Hogg.  Peezan ! — Pushion,  say  rather — it's  a'  dirt  now.  Lord  Byron, 
I  aye  said,  wadna  put  up  wi'  sic  company  lang — and  ye  laughed  at 
me ;  but  you  see  I'm  right  after  a'. 

Odoherty.  Me  laugh  at  you  1  I  only  wonder  what  the  deuce  it  can 
have  been,  that  made  him  countenance  them  even  for  the  little  time 
he  did.  His  articles  were  libellous  sometimes,  (these  fellows,  by  the 
way,  can  no  more  libel  than  a  tailor  can  ride,)  but  they  had  no  con- 
nection with,  or  resemblance  to  the  sort  of  trash  the  Cockneys  stuffed 
them  in  the  heart  of The  last  number  contains  not  one  line  of  By- 
ron's.— Thank  God !  he  has  seen  his  error,  and  kicked  them  out. 

Hogg.  I  canna  gie  him  up.  I  canna  thole't.  I  aye  think  he'll  turn 
ower  a  new  leaf,  and  be  himself  ere  lang. 

Odoherty.  Quod  felix  faustumque  ! — But  as  to  these  drivellers,  they 
are  all  in  their  old  mire  again. — Just  Rimini  Hunt,  and  three  or  four 


Hogg.  "Lewd  fellows  of  the  baser  sort," — to  use  scriptural  language, 
touching  a  most  unscriptural  crew. 

Tickler.  And  whether  you  take  "  lewd"  in  the  old  or  the  new  sense, 
you  could  not  have  hit  on  a  fitter  epithet  for  the  authors  of  some  of 
these  disgusting  farragos.  The  fellow  that  reviews  Apuleius  would 
look  at  home  upon  the  treadmill.  Filthy,  dirty  creature  !  Latin,  for- 
sooth !— and  what  think  ye  of  King  Leigh  comparing  Pope's  face  to 
a  Fawn's  ? 

Hogg.  Which  rhymes  of  course  to  thorns  or  scorns. 

Tickler.  Of  course. — Have  you  seen  the  Liber  Amoris  ? 

Odoherty.  Not  I, — what  is  it  ? — a  Cockneyism  ? 

*  "  The  Liberal,"  a  quarterly  magazine  and  review,  published  at  Pisa,  and  edited  by  Lord 
Byron  and  Leigh  Hunt,  with  assistance  from  Hazlitt.  In  the  earlier  numbers,  several  of 
Shelley's  poems  had  appeared.  His  death,  in  July,  1822,  sealed  the  fate  of  this  periodical, 
which  had  very  few  redeeming  features. — M. 


316  NOCTES  AMBROSIAN^.  [May, 

Tickler .  Ay,  and  a  most  profligate  Cockneyism  too.*  But  wait  a 
little,  wait  a  little.  I  can  a  tale  unfold.  You  shall  hear  the  whole 
story  in  due  time, — "  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth  ;" 
and  well  know  I  at  least  one  Cockney  that  would  shake  in  his  shoes 
if  he  heard  what  I  am  saying. 

Hogg.  Ye  gar  me  shake  myseP  when  ye  speak  with  that  groaning 
key,  and  lay  out  your  leg  that  way.  O,  Mr.  Tickler,  ye're  an  awfu' 
auld  carle  when  your  birr's  up.  Sic  an  ee  too  !  ye  put  me  in  mind, 
no  oflence,  sir,  of  Gait's  Archbishop.f 

Tickler.  Hah !  hah !  the  Archbishop  of  St.  Andrews  ?  Old  Ham- 
ilton ? 

Hogg.  Ay,  just  him.  I  have  Ringan  in  my  maud  here  .J  I  coft 
him  for  our  bit  Yarrow  Subscription  Leebrary. 

Odoherty.  Read  the  description  of  Timotheus. 

Hogg  {reading  from  Ringan  Gilhaize).  "  He  used  to  depict  him 
as  a  hale  black-a-vised  carl,  of  an  o'ersea  look,  with  a  long  dark  beard 
inclining  to  gray :  his  abundant  hair  flowing  down  from  his  cowl, 
was  also  clouded  and  streaked  with  the  kithings  of  th^  cranreuch  of 
age — there  was,  however,"  (here's  for  you,  Timothy  !) — "  there  was, 
however,  a  youthy  and  luscious  twinkling  in  his  eyes,  that  showed 
how  little  the  passage  of  three  and  sixty  winters  had  cooled  the  ram- 
pant"  

Tickler.  Stop,  you  old  Boar. 

Hogg.  A  devilish  weel-sketched  portrait  in  its  style — very  pictur- 
esque, 'faith-^and  I  dare  say,  very  like. 

Tickler.  Why,  I  profess  to  be  tolerably  read  in  the  history  of  that 
period,  and  much  as  I  detest  the  Covenanters,  I  must  allow  that  Gait 
has  authority  for  every  fact  he  introduces. 

Hogg.  There  wad  nane  o'  you  believe  me,  when  I  said  I  had  au- 
thority for  the  misusage  of  that  priest  o'  mine,  in  the  Brownie.§ 

Tickler.  It  did  not  signify,  whether  you  had  or  not — but  here  the 
case  is  altered,  quoth  Plowden.  This  book  is  really  something  of  a 
history. 

Odoherty.  Faith,  I  read  it  as  a  novel,  and,  though  not  quite  so  laugh- 
able as  the  Entail,  I  thought  it  a  devilish  good  novel. 

Tickler.  And  so  it  is — but  mark  my  words,  the  Book  will  live  when 
most  Novels  we  see  just  now  are  forgotten,  as  a  history.\  'Tis  really 
a  very  skilful,  natural,  easy,  and  amusing  History  of  the  Establish- 

*  "  Liber  Amoris,  or  the  New  Pygmalion,"  a  strange  production  of  William  Hazlitt's,  written 
with  great  earnestness— as  if,  in  truth,  the  man  must  pour  out  his  confessions  or  have  his 
heart  burst — but  open  to  ridicule  and  hostile  criticism,  for  many  causes. — M. 

t  One  of  the  characters  in  "  Ringan  Gilhaize,  or,  The  Covenanters,"  by  John  Gait,  which  was 

X  3lcmd.—A  Scottish  peasant's  plaid.— M, 
published  in  May,  182-3 —M. 

§  "  The  Brownie  of  Bodsbeck,"  one  of  Hogg's  first  prose  stories. — M. 

I  On  the  contrary,  like  the  rest  of  Gait's  historical  novels,  "  Ringan  Gilhaize"  was  never  of 
much  mark  or  note,  and  was  soon  forgotten. — M. 


1823.]  LADY  CAROLINE  LAMB.  317 

ment  of  the  Reformed  and  Presbyterian  Religion  in  this  kingdom — 
very  great  art  in  the  management,  I  assure  you. 

Hogg.  Oh,  it's  a  braw  book — it's  a  real  book — I  aye  liked  Gait,  and 
I  like  him  better  than  ever  now.  He  has  completely  entered  into  the 
spirit  of  the  Covenanters — far  better  than  The  Unknown — clean  aboon 
him,  head  and  showthers.     The  real  truth  of  the  character 

Odoherty.  Who  the  devil  cares  about  the  Covenanters  ?  Confound 
the  old  bigoted  idiot,  say  I !    Have  you  seen  Murray*  in  Claverhouse  ? 

Tickler.  I  have,  and  he  plays  it  and  looks  it  nobly.  The  drama  is 
one  of  the  best  from  those  novels.  Mackay's  Cuddie  Headrigg,  Mrs. 
Nichol's  Mause,  and  Mason's  old  Milnwood,  are  particularly  excellent. 

Hogg.  What  for  have  they  no  had  the  sense  to  keep  the  one  table 
with  the  saltfoot,  as  in  the  novel  ?  They've  clean  missed  a  fine  point 
by  that  silly  alteration. 

Tickler.  They  have.     Tell  them  of  it,  and  they'll  mend  it. 

Hogg.  I  had  a  letter  from  an  Ettrick  lad  thaf  s  settled  in  America, 
the  other  day,  and  he  says  they've  made  a  play  there  out  of  my  Three 
Perils  already,  and  it  takes  prodigiously.  They've  mair  sense  owerby 
there  than  here  at  hame,  in  some  particulars.  They  turn  a'  my  novels 
into  plays.  Od !  I  cannot  but  say  it  makes  me  prood  to  think  that 
I'm  acting  just  now,  at  this  very  moment,  in  New  York,  maybe,  and 
Boston,  and  half  a  dozen  mair  of  their  towns  intill  the  bargain ;  and 
then,  how  they  translate  me  in  Germany ;  but  Kempferhausen  can  tell 
you  better  aboot  those  things. 

Kempferhausen.  Poohl  they  translate  every  thing  in  Germany; 
you  need  not  take  that  as  any  very  great  compliment.  And  in  France 
too,  faith  I  believe  they  translate  any  thing  in  Paris  that's  written  in 
England. 

Hogg.  I  wad  like  to  see  mysell  moushified.  If  ye  have  the  French 
Brownie  of  Bodsbeek,  let  me  hae  a  lend  o't ; — od !  I  would  not  won- 
der if  it  garred  me  tak  to  learning  their  lingo. 

Odoherty.  And  then,  perhaps,  we  shall  have  you  writing  a  book  in 
French  yourself,  like  a  second  Sir  William  Jones,  or  Mr.  Beckford. 
By  the  way,  was  there  ever  such  a  failure  as  this  new  imitation  of 
Beckford's  Vathek,  Ada  Reis  ? 

Tichler,  I  could  not  get  through  with  it  for  one ;  wild  and  dull 
together  won't  do.  Lady  Carolinef  is  a  very  clever  person  certainly, 
but  she  should  really  take  a  little  time  and  thought.     Graham  Hamil- 

*  W.  H.  Murray,  manager  of  the  Edinburgh  Theatre,  of  which  his  sister,  Mrs.  Henry  Sid- 
dons,  was  lessee.  He  was  an  excellent  actor. — Charles  Mackay,  whose  Baillie  Nicol  Jarvie,  in 
"  Rob  Roy,"  was  never  equalled,  was  one  of  the  main  supports  of  this  theatre.— M. 

t  Lady  Caroline  Lamb  (whose  husband  became  Lord  Melbourne,  after  her  death  in  1828,  at 
the  age  of  forty-two)  possessed  some  literary  talents,  and  made  herself  not  a  little  notorious  by 
the  zeal  with  which,  as  a  canvasser  among  the  electors,  she  assisted  her  brother-in-law  (the 
Hon.  George  Lamb)  when  he  was  a  candidate  for  the  representation  of  Westminster.  Her 
wild  passion  for  Lord  Byron  was  fatal  to  her  domestic  felicity,  ruined  her  character,  and 
alienated  her  friends.  She  wrote  three  novels,—-"  Glenarvon,"  (of  which  she  is  supposed  to 
have  made  Byron  the  hero,)  "  Graham  Hamilton,"  and  "  Ada  Reis."— -M. 


318  NOCTES  AMBEOSIAN^.  [May, 

ton  was  bad,  and  this  is  worse.     I  wonder  Murray  took  the  trouble  to 
publish  it. 

Odoherty.  Nevertheless,  Tickler,  there  are  some  fine  passages,  some 
noble  things,  after  all.  But  to  imitate  Vathek  and  to  fail  were  very 
nearly  the  same  thing.  Vathek,  sir,  is  one  of  the  most  original  works 
that  our  age  has  seen.*  It  will  hve  when  Fonthill  is  in  ruins — cere 
•perennius. 

Hogg.  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  your  notion  of  some  more  of  the 
new  books,  sirs  ;  for  I've  gotten  some  of  the  Ettrick  lads'  siller  yet, 
and  I'm  resolved  to  carry  them  out  every  thing  that  I  can  cofF. 
Blackwood  says,  "The  Monks  of  Leadenhall"  is  a  good  novel. 

Tickler.  It  is  very  fair ;  the  author  has  spirit  and  imagination,  and 
knowledge  too, — he  will  be  a  rising  man  yet,  you  will  see — if  he 
takes  a  little  more  time  and  consideration.  By  all  means,  export  The 
Monks  of  Leadenhall  to  St  Mary's.     'Tis  a  very  promising  work. 

Hogg.  Thank  ye, — I'll  e'en  buy't  then, — and  "  The  Pioneers,"  that's 
a  book  of  Murray's — I  suppose  it  will  be  worth  its  price,  since  it  comes 
out  of  his  shop, — for  John's  no  that  keen  o'  novels  now-a-days. 

Tickler.  Why,  the  author  has  very  considerable  talents — but  "  The 
Spy  "  was  far  better.  This  is  rather  a  heavy  book ; — but,  however,  it 
will  go  down  on  Yarrow  and  elsewhere ; — any  thing  is  valuable  in  so 
far  that  paints  new  manners — and,  American  manners  are  a  rich  mine 
— and  this  writer  bids  fair  to  dig  to  purpose  in  it.f 

Kempferhausen.  Washington  Irving  is,  I  hear,  busy  with  German 
manners  now.  He  has  taken  up  his  residence  there, — and.  is  deter- 
mined to  give  us  a  German  Sketchbook  in  the  first  place  J — (what  a 
present  this  will  be !) — and  then  a  series  of  works,  all  founded  on 
German  stories,  and  illustrative  of  the  characters  and  customs  of  Ger- 
man life. 

Odoherty.  Come,  this  is  good  news,  Kempferhausen — I  am  truly 
happy  to  hear  Geoffrey  Crayon  has  got  hold  of  so  fine  a  field.  In  the 
meantime,  do  you  stick  to  your  tackle,  and  devil-a-fear  but  there's 
enough  for  you  both. 

Hogg.  I've  bought  ©'Israeli's  book,  and  Butler's  Reminiscences,§ 

Tickler.  Right  in  both.     Butler  is  a  delightful  writer — so  calm,  so 

*  William  Beckford's  singular  tale  of  "  Vathek,"  was  originally  written  by  him  in  French. 
It  is  so  splendid  in  description,  so  true  in  eastern  costume,  and  so  wild  and  vivid  in  imagina- 
tion, that  Lord  Byron  considered  it  difficult  to  believe  that  it  was  written  by  an  European,  and 
said,  "  Even  Rasselas  must  bow  before  it;  the  Happy  Valley  will  not  bear  a  comparison  with 
the  Hall  of  Eblis." — Fonthill  Abbey,  which  was  sold  in  1S22,  has  long  been  shorn  of  its  archi- 
tectural beauties,  and  the  last  I  heard  of  it  was  that  it  had  been  converted  into  a  factory  ! — M. 

t  Fenimore  Cooper's  sea  and  Indian  novels  obtained  very  large  prices  in  England,  where 
(to  secure  the  copyright)  most  of  them  were  first  published. — M. 

X  Washington  Irving  (says  "  The  Men  of  the  Time^^)  passed  the  winter  of  1822  in  Dresden,  re- 
turned to  Paris  in  1823,  and  moved  to  London  in  May,  1821,  to  publish  his  Tales  of  a  Traveller, 
which  appeared  in  August  of  that  year. — M. 

§  Isaac  D'Israeli,  best  known  by  his  "  Curiosities  of  Literature,"  was  father  of  the  brilliant 
English  statesman  and  writer,  and  died  in  1848,  at  the  age  of  eighty-one. — Charles  Butler,  a 
well  known  Roman  Catholic  lawyer,  published  his  agreeable  and  instructive  "  Reminiscences" 
in  1823.    He  also  was  eighty-one  when  he  died,  in  1832. — M. 


1823.]  SCX)TTISH  PAINTEES.  319 

sensible,  so  judicious,  so  thoroughly  the  scholar  and  gentleman.  I 
love  Butler,  and  wish  his  Reminiscences  had  been  five  times  as  large. 
I  read  the  book  through  at  a  sitting — and  delightful  reading  it  was. 

Odoherty.  There's  another  new  book  has  just  come  out,  something 
between  D'Israeli's  manner  and  Butler's ;  but  I  don't  know  whether  it 
will  be  in  Hogg's  way — the  "  Heraldic  Anomalies." 

Tickler.  O,  a  very  clever  book — I  mean  to  give  North  a  review  of 
it  one  of  these  days,  and  then  Hogg  will  judge  for  himself.  It  is  real- 
ly quite  full  of  information  and  aanusement  too.* 

Odoherty.  Who  wrote  it  ? 

Tickler.  God  knows !  some  old  pawky  Barrister — some  venerable 
qui2izer  among  the  benchers,  I  should  guess.  There's  a  vast  bunch  of 
good  legal  jokes ;  and  a  sort  of  learning  that  nobody  but  a  lawyer 
could  have  acquired.  He  is  a  good-natured,  polite  and  genuinely 
aristocratic  writer — I  wish  we  had  more  such.  Mayn't  it  be  Butler 
himself? 

Kempferhausen.  I  should  have  thought  it  possible,  but  he  quotes 
and  praises  Butler's  books,  and  of  course  Butler  is  above  all  that  sort 
of  trick.     Somebody  mentioned  Dr.  Nares.f 

Tickler.  Ah  !  a  good  guess  too.  Why,  the  man  that  can  write 
both  that  Glossary  of  the  Old  English  Tongue,  and  that  admirable 
novel  of  "  Thinks  I  to  Myself,"  may  do  any  thing  he  pleases.  The 
Archdeacon  is  a  first-rate  man,  or  at  least  might  be  so  if  he  chose  to 
give  himself  the  trouble. 

Odoherty.  Well,  I  hope  we  shall  have  more  both  of  him  and  of 
Butler.  I  shall  be  happy  to  see  the  review,  Timothy  ;  but  you  know 
you  promised  to  do  Allan's  picture,  and  yet  where  is  it  ?  The  article, 
I  mean. 

Tickler.  Upon  my  soul,  I  had  quite  forgot.  I  hope  the  picture  is 
sold  ere  now. 

Odoherty.  I  see  it  is  considerably  lauded  in  the  Literary  Gazette 
and  elsewhere.  Raeburn  and  he  always  keep  up  our  art  at  the  exhi- 
bition. 

Tickler.  And  Wilkie — but  I  shall  say  nothing  of  him,  for  I  observe 
Hazlitt  abuses  us  for  being  so  proud  of  him. 

Odoherty.  I  think  he  might  take  to  abuse  of  you  for  being  so  proud 
of  Allan  too — really  Allan  rises  every  day  .J 

Tickler.  Yes,  sir — that  figure  of  John  Knox  is  the  finest  effect  his 

*  By  Miss  Hawkins,  I  believe.  She  was  daughter  of  Sir  John  Hawkins,  the  friend  and  execu- 
tor of  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson,  of  whom  he  wrote  a  biography,  severely  handled  by  the  critics — 
but  with  peculiar  acerbity  by  "  Peter  Pindar." — M. 

t  Dr.  Robert  Nares,  whose  novel  "  Thinks  I  to  Myself"  was  very  popular,  about  half  a  cen- 
tury ago,  was  co-editor  for  many  years  (with  Mr.  Beloe)  of  the  British  Critic,  a  high-church 
literary  review.  He  wrote  several  recondite  philological  works,  and  when  he  died  in  1829, 
held  four  or  five  rich  preferments  in  the  Church. — M. 

X  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  go  into  details  respecting  painters  so  well  known  as  Raeburn, 
Wilkie,  and  Allan. — The  first,  who  was  the  best  portrait-painter  of  his  time  in  Scotland,  died 


320  KOCTES   AMBROSIAIT^.  [Mat, 

pencil  has  made.  Heavens!  to  think  of  these  rich  people  buying 
Tenierses  and  Gerard  Doavs  at  such  prices,  when  they  could  get  some- 
thing so  infinitely  better — with  all  their  merit,  and  something  fifty 
times  beyond  them  into  the  bargain — for,  comparatively  speaking,  a 
mere  trifle. 

Odoherty.  Come,  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  triples — and  as 
for  Allan,  he  can't  complain,  for  devil  a  piece  of  his  own  handiwork  has 
he  upon  his  hands. 

Tickler.  That's  right — so  much  genius  united  with  so  much  indus- 
try always  must  command  success.  I  am  glad  to  hear  he  gets  on  so 
well,  however. 

Odoherty.  You'll  see  him  in  his  chariot  ere  he  is  three  years  older. 

Hogg.  Set  him  up  wi'  chariots  !  Deil  mean  him  !  I  think  if  yon 
auld  clattering  rickerty  of  a  gig  does  for  a  poet  like  me,  a  shelty  may 
serve  ony  brushman  amang  them.     Chariots ! 

Odoherty.  Pooh !  I  mean  to  sport  a  coach  and  six  myself  one  of 
these  days.  What  do  you  think  I  have  been  oflfered  for  my  new 
work? 

Tickler.  "  The  West  Country,  a  Novel  ?" 

Odoherty.  The  same.*     Guess,  Timothy. 

Hogg.  Five  hundred  ? 

Tickler.  A  cool  thousand  ? 

Odoherty.  Fifteen  hundred  guineas,  by  the  holy  poker !  What 
think  ye  of  that,  Jamie  Hogg  ? 

Hogg.  Fifteen  hundred  guineas  !  hoh,  sirs !  What  will  this  warld 
come  to !  Thae  booksellers  are  turned  princes.  It  will  be  an  awfu' 
book  for  selling  though,  Captain.     It  is  all  about  Glasgow. 

Odoherty.  Glasgow,  Paisley,  and  Greenock — these  clasical  haunts 
are  all  included  under  this  most  rural  title.  It  is  to  be  my  chef 
d''oeuvre.  I  intend  to  take  Gait  and  annihilate  him — I  mean  his 
"West  Country,"  the  old  "West  Country,"  the  "Entail." 

Hogg.  Do  that,  and  you'll  do  something. 

Tickler.  Depict  a  living  idiot  equal  to  Wattie,f  and  eris  mihi  Mag- 
nus Apollo  ! 

Odoherty.  No  want  of  idiots ;  but,  as  Hogg  says,  "  wait  a  wee." 
Have  any  of  you  seen  the  concluding  cantos  of  Don  Juan  ? 

Tickler.  Oh !  we  have  all  seen  them.  North  has  had  a  copy  of 
them  these  six  weeks.     I  wonder  if  they're  ever  to  get  a  pubhsher.f 

in  1823, — in  subjects  of  domestic  life,  none  surpassed  the  second,  whose  death  took  place  in 
Gibraltar  Bay,  in  1841, — the  last,  who  had  mastered  the  difficulties  and  reproduced  the  spirit 
of  Eastern  life,  died  in  1850.  All  three  were  successively  presidents  of  the  Royal  Scottish 
Academy,  and  had  been  knighted. — M. 

*  Which  never  was  written. 

+  Tlie  half-witted  hero  of  "  The  Entail."— M. 

X  Cantos  I.  and  II.  of  Don  Juan  were  published  in  July,  1819,  without  the  name  of  author  or 
publisher.  Cantos  III.,  IV.  and  V.  appeared  together,  in  August,  1821 ,  still  without  the  name 
of  either  author  or  bookseller.  Cantos  VI.,  vn.,  and  VIII.,  written  at  Pisa,  in  July,  1822,  were 
published  in  London  in  July,  1823. — M. 


1823.1 


DOK  JTJAN.  321 


Hogg,  They're  extraordinary  clever — they're  better  even  than  thp 
tvra  first ;  but  that  mischievous  Constitutional  Association  will  not  le+ 
ony  body  daur  to  print  them.*  And,  after  all,  it's  maybe  as  weel 
sae,  for  they're  gey  wicked,  I  must  alloo ;  and  yet,  it's  amaist  a  pity 

Odoherty.  I  have  a  great  mind  to  turn  bookseller  myself,  just  on 
purpose  to  put  an  end  to  all  this  nonsense.  A  pretty  story,  truly 
that  two  cantos  of  Byron's  best  poetry  should  be  going  a  begging  foi 
a  midwife  !    Horrible  barbarism  ! 

Tickler.  Just    retribution !     How    are    the    mighty    fallen ' 

"  Crede  Byron  ! !"]; 

Odoherty.  Crede  humbug !  {Left  speaking) 

*  A  Society  which  was  organized  in  London,  to  prevent  and  punish  the  publication  of  im- 
moral and  seditious  works.  It  raised  large  funds  by  subscription,  but  did  little  more  than 
spend  them,  chiefly  in  heavy  salaries  and  good  dinners. — M. 

+  "  Crede  Byron,"— the  heraldic  motto  of  the  house  of  Byron.— M. 


14* 


322 


No.  IX.— JUNE,  1823. 


Odoherty.  Make  your  mind  easy,  my  old  poet,  about  it.  They 
stand  no  more  in  need  of  your  assistance,  than  a  seventy-four  wants  to 
be  towed  through  the  Bay  of  Biscay  by  a  six-oared  yawl. 

North.  There  would  be  no  harm,  however,  in  saying,  that  Quen- 
tin  Durward  is  a  splendid  book  ? 

Odoherty.  And  as  little  good.  Why  need  you  hold  your  farthing 
candle  to  the  sun  ?  Hang  it,  man,  never  deal  in  axioms.  I  was  truly 
sorry  to  see  you  in  your  last  Number  so  anxious  to  show  up  the  Vi- 
comte  Soligny  as  an  ass,  when  every  body  saw  his  measureless  ears, 
pricked  up  in  proud  defiance,  affronting  the  daylight.* 

Buller.  We  punsters  of  Rhedycina  are  indignant  with  the  Great 
Magician  for  missing  a  capital  pun,  and  making  a  poor  one.  You  re- 
member what  Louis  says  to  Tristan  L'Hermite  when  he  is  confined, 
and  wishes  to  have  the  astrologer  hanged — that  pun  about  finis. 

Tickler.  Yes ;  here's  the  passage.  "  Tristan,  thou  hast  done  many 
an  act  of  brave  justice — finis — I  should  have  ^?i\d.funus  coronat  opus." 

Buller.  Read  it,  meo  periculo,  fimis  coronat  opus.  "We  must 
crown  the  business  by  a  rope."     Isn't  it  more  professional  ? 

North.  Decidedly,  a  much  better  pun.     Is  it  yours  ? 

Mullion.  Has  Durward  been  dramatized  yet  ? 

North.  I  don't  know  ;  but  I  suppose  it  has.  Terry  would  have  but 
little  labor  on  his  hands,  for  many  of  the  scenes  are  dramatic  enough 
for  the  stage  even  as  they  are.f 

Mullion.  The  defiance  of  Crevecoeur,  for  instance.  There  need  not 
be  a  word  added  or  diminished  there. 

Tickler.  That  certainly  is  a  magnificent  scene — a  model  for  all  de- 
fiances. 

Odoherty.  Could  not  we  get  up  a  thing  of  the  kind  here,  in  our 
own  way  ? 

North.  How !     What  the  deuce  have  we  to  do  with  such  things  ? 

Odoherty.  Why,  then,  I'll  tell  you,  my  ancient  biscuit-biter.  As 
soon  as  Constable's  new  shop  is  finally  settled — painters,  glaziers,  ma- 

*  A  review,  in  the  May  number  of  Blackxcood^  of  "  Letters  on  England,  by  Victoire,  Count 
de  Soligny,"  published  by  Colburn,  of  London,  and  affiliated,  by  Maga,  upon  little  Tims,  the 
Cockney,  who  was  one  of  the  guests  in  the  Tent,  in  August,  1819,  as  heretofore  related. — M. 

+  Quentin  Durward,  published  in  June,  1823,  was  the  first  of  Scott's  fictions  which  obtained 
reputation  on  the  Continent.  Terry,  who  adapted  several  of  the  novels  for  the  stage,  did  not 
take  this  in  band,  but  It  was  dramatized,  and  made  a  splendid  spectacle. — M. 


June,  1823.]  THE   DEFIANCE    OF   ODOHEKTY.  323 

sons,  tilers,  slaters,  carpenters,  joiners,  upholsterers,  paperers,  and  all 
that  fry,  bowled  out  clean,  there  is  to  be  a  high  dinner  given  to  all  the 
men  of  blue  and  yellow.     Jeffrey  in  persona  in  the  chair. 

North.  Well,  what  then  ? 

Mullion.  I  suppose  that  when  the  Reviewers  are  mustered,  Odoherty 
wishes  them  to  be  peppered. 

North.  Knit  him  up  to  the  stanchions  for  that  pun.  It  is  beyond 
question  the  worst  I  have  heard  since  the  days  of  Harrj'-  Erskine. 
Perge^  Signifer. 

Odoherty.  Would  not  it  be  a  good  thing  for  you"  to  defy  him  then 
and  there,  when  surrounded  by  the  host  of  the  ungodly  ? 

Tickler.  Who  would  be  the  ambassador  ? 

Odoherty.  My  own  mother's  son  ;  and  you  should  be  herald,  being  a 
man  of  inches.  I  should  not  dress  exactly  a  la  Crevecoeur ;  but  hand 
me  the  first  volume  of  Quentin,  and  I  shall  follow  it  as  close  as  possible. 

North.  Here,  most  worthy  legate. 

Odoherty  {reading  Quentin  Durward,  vol.  i.  p.  205,  with  a  slight 
deviation  from  the  words  of  the  text).  Would  not  this  read  grandly 
in  future  ages,  "  Ensign  and  Adjutant  Morgan  Odoherty,  a  renowned 
and  undaunted  warrior " 

Mullion  (aside).  Over  a  tumbler  of  punch. 

Odoherty.  "  Entered  the  apartment,  dressed  in  a  military  frock-coat, 
thickly  frogged,  black  stock,  Cossack  trowsers,  Wellington  boots,  and 
steel  spurs.  Around  his  neck,  and  over  his  close-buttoned  coat,  hung 
a  broad  black  ribbon,  at  the  end  of  which  dangled  a  quizzing-glass. 
A  handsome  page " 

Hogg.  Wha  the  deil  will  he  be  ? 

Odoherty.  Don't  interrupt  me.  "  A  handsome  page,  James  Hogg, 
Esq.,  Shepherd  of  Ettrick " 

Sogg.  Hear  till  him  !     Me  a  page  to  a  stickit  Ensign  ?* 

Odoherty.  "Bore  his  hat  behind  him.  A  herald  preceded  him, 
bearing  his  card,  which  he  held  under  the  nose  of  Francis ;  while  the 
ambassador  himself  paused  in  the  middlt  of  the  hall,  as  if  to  give 
present  time " 

Tickler.  What,  by  the  way,  did  the  Great  Unknown  mean  by  such 
a  phrase  as  ^'■present  time?'''' 

Mullion.  Perhaps,  because  the  business  was  no^^as^  time. 

North  (springs  up  in  a  rage).  By  Jupiter  Ammon,  Mullion,  another 
such  pun,  and  I  will  fine  you  a  bumper  of  magnesia  water  ! 

Odoherty.  "As  if  to  give  present  time  to  admire  his  lofty  look, 
commanding  stature,  and  the  modest  assurance  which  marked  the 
country  of  his  birth." 

*  When  a  licentiate  of  the  Scottish  church,  whose  devotion  or  ambition  has  led  him  into  the 
pulpit,  happens  to  fail  as  a  preacher,  he  is  usually  spoken  of  as  "  a  stickit  Dominie."  In  like 
manner,  no  doubt,  Hogg  thus  alluded  to  Odoherty  as  a  mere  carpet-knight.— M. 


324:  NOCTES  AMBKOSIAN^.  [June 

Omnes.  Hear,  hear,  hear ! 

Odoherty.  Well,  I'll  skip  on  to  the  defiance  at  Once.  Turn  to  page 
213.  {A  rustling  of  leaves  is  heard.)  "Hearken,  Francis  Jeffrey, 
King  of  Blue  and  Yellow — Hearken,  scribes,  and  balaamites,  who 
may  be  present — Hearken,  all  shy  and  shabby  men — and  thou, 
Timothy  Tickler,  make  proclamation  after  me — I,  Morgan  Odoherty, 
of  the  barony  of  Iffa  and  Offa  west,  and  the  parish  of  Knockman- 
downy,  late  Ensign  and  Adjutant  of  the  99th,  or  his  Majesty's  Tippe- 
rary  regiment  of  infantry,  and  Fellow  of  the  Royal,  Phrenological, 
Antiquarian,  Auxiliary  Bible,  and  Celtic  Societies  of  Edinburgh ;  in 
the  name  of  the  most  puissant  chief,  Christopher,  by  the  grace  of 
Brass,  Editor  of  Blackwood's  and  the  Methodist  Magazines ;  Duke  of 
Humbug,  of  Quiz,  Puffery,  Cutup,  and  Slashandhackaway ;  Prince 
Paramount  of  the  Gentlemen  of  the  Press,  Lord  of  the  Magaziners, 
and  Regent  of  the  Reviewers ;  Mallet  of  Whiggery,  and  Castigator  of 
Cockaigne  ;  Count  Palatin  of  the  Periodicals ;  Marquis  of  the  Holy 
Poker ;  Baron  of  Balaam  and  Blarney,  and  Knight  of  the  most  sting- 
ing Order  of  the  Nettle,  do  give  you.  King  of  Blue  and  Yellow,  openly 
to  know,  that  you  having  refused  to  remedy  the  various  griefs, 
wrongs,  and  offences,  done  and  wrought  by  you,  or  by  and  through 
your  aid,  suggestion,  and  instigation,  against  the  said  Chief,  and  his 
loving  subjects,  the  authors  in  particular,  and  the  Tory  people  in  gen- 
eral, of  this  realm,  he,  by  my  mouth,  renounces  all  beUef  in  your 
assery,  pronounces  you  absurd  and  trashy,  and  bets  you  sixpence,  that 
he  beats  you  as  a  critic  and  as  a  man.  There,  my  tester  is  posted  in 
evidence  of  what  I  have  said." 

Omnes  (with  enthusiasm).  Hear  him !  hear  him  !  hear  him  ! 
Odoherty.  Let  me  go  on,  for  I  think  the  remainder  would  be  ap- 
plicable.    "  So  saying,  he  plucked  the  sixpence  from  the  bottom  of  his 
breeches  pocket,  and  flung  it  down  on  the  floor  of  the  hall. 

"  Until  this  last  climax  of  the  bet,  there  had  been  a  deep  silence  in 
the  Whig  apartment  during  this  extraordinary  scene ;  but  no  sooner  had 
the  jingle  of  the  tester,  wken  cast  down,  been  echoed  by  the  deep 
voice  of  Timotheus,  the  Blackwoodian  herald,  with  the  ejaculation 
'  Vive  Tete  de  Buchanan !'  than  there  was  a  general  tumult ;  while 
Brougham,  Sydney  Smith,  Leslie,  and  one  or  two  others,  whose  coats, 
whole  at  the  elbows,  authorized  the  suspicion  that  they  could  sport 
the  coin,  fumbled  in  their  pockets  for  wherewithal  to  cover  the  six- 
pence ;  the  Seven  Young  Men  exclaimed,  '  No  bet  with  you.  Butcher ! 
Bubble,  bubble  !  Comes  he  here  to  insult  the  King  of  the  Libellers 
in  his  own  hall  V 

"  But  the  King  appeased  the  tumult,  by  exclaiming,  in  a  voice 
agreeably  composed  of  the  music  of  an  English  coachee  grafted  upon 
a  genuine  Embro'  brogue, '  Silence,  my  lieges  !  Cover  not  the  bet,  for 
you  would  lose  your  blunt;  Christopher  is  too  rum  a  customer  for  me.' " 


1823.]  LEDDY   GRIPPY.  325 

Hogg.  Od,  man,  that's  the  verra  way  Advocate  Jeffrey  speaks. 
Tickler.  It  would  be  a  fine  subject  for  a  picture.     I  shall  suggest  it 
to  Allan,  when  I  see  him  next. 

Mullion.  It  could  be  called  the  "  Defiance  of  Doherty." 
Odoherty.  I  trouble  you  for  the  vowel,  my  friend — Odoherty,  if  you 
please — I  have  no  notion  of  any  body's  being  alliterative  at  my  ex- 
pense. 

TicMer.  Yes,  it  would  be  a  grand  historical  painting.  The  stuch- 
pig  stare  of  the  great  man  himself — the  scowling  fury  of  Brougham 
— the  puckered-up  nose  of  the  Mercurial  Parson — the  jobbernowl 
gape  of  "  our  fat  friend  "* — the  sentimental  visage  of  the  "  Modern 
Pygmalion" — the  epileptical  frenzy  of  the   half-human  countenance 

of  the  ,  and  the  helpless  innocence  of  the  Seven  Young  Men, 

would  be  truly  awful  and  sublime,  while  the  magnificence  of  the 
Odoherty- 


Odoherty.  The  stateliness  of  the  Tickler 

TicMer.  And  the  beauty  of  the  Hogg,  would  afford  a  fine  fore- 
ground. 

Buller.  Allan  should  lose  no  time.  If  he  does  not  do  it  at  once,  as 
I  am  off  for  London  to-morrow,  I  shall  speak  to  that  other  great 
master  of  the  sublime,  George  Cruikshank. 

North.  There  is  another  defiance  in  the  third  volume,  where  De  la 
Marck  sends  Maugrabbin  to  the  Duke  of  Burgundy. 

Mullion.  If  you  copy  that  defiance,  send  Hogg  as  ambassador,  for 
he  has  the  best  title  to  be  Rouge  Sanglier. 

Hogg.  I  wish,  doctor,  ye  would  let  Hogg  alane.  What  for  are  ye 
aye  harling  me  intill  your  havers,  by  the  lug  and  the  horn  ? — I  dinna 
like  it. 

Odoherty.  What!  surly? 

Hogg.  It's  no  decent  to  be  aye  meddling  wi'  folks'  personalities. 
I'm  sure  by  this  time  the  whole  set  o'  you  might  ha'  mair  sense.  Ye 
ken  what  ye  hae  gotten  by  your  personalities. 

North.  A  decreet  o'  Court,  Jamie,  as  Leddy  Grippyf  would  have 
said. 

TicMer.  Softly  on  that  score. 

North.  What  do  you  mean  ? 

TicMer.  Have  you  not  heard  the  news  ?  Why,  the  old  woman  is 
still  alive. 

Hogg.  Godsake  !  is  she  till  the  fore  yet  ? 

Odoherty.  Yes ;  all  alive  and  kicking — and  in  town  too.  Gait  was 
taken  in  by  the  jeu  d^esprit  in  the  respectable  elderly  paper,  an- 
nouncing that  she  died  much  and  justly  regretted. 

*  Sir  John  Leslie,  described  by  Scott  as  "  a  great  philosopher,  and  as  abominble  an  animal 
&s  ever  I  saw." — M. 
t  The  heroine  of  Gait's  novel  of  "  The  Entail."— M. 


326  NOCTES   AMBROSIA^^.  [Junk, 

Tickler.  I  see  by  the  twinkle  of  North's  eye  that  he  was  at  the 
bottom  of  the  story  ? 

Mullion.  What  story  ? 

Tickler.  Of  her  death.  The  notice  of  her  decease  was  a  hoax,  they 
jay,  got  up  in  the  back  shop. 

Hogg.  That  naebody  need  misdout ;   mony  a  hoax  and  ither  black 
hae  been  clecket  there. 

Odoherty.  The  Chaldee,  Jamie. 

Tickler.  The  leddy  means  to  raise  an  action.  She  lays  the  damages 
at  five  thousand  pounds  sterling. 

Hogg.  And  I'll  lay  the  wad  o'  a  crown,  that  she'll  no  fake  a  far- 
thing ;  but,  Captain,  tell  us  a'  about  it — Man,  this  is  capital.  I'll 
obligate  Ebony  to  pay  us  for  an  extra  number — an  extra  number  clears 
his  scores  for  Christopher's  pranks. 

Buller.  Do,  Captain,  let's  have  it.  Sure  we  are  all  alike  implicated 
in  whatever  aftects  the  general  concern  ? 

Odoherty.  The  fact  is,  that  Gait  did  not  well  know  how  to  wind  up 
the  Entail ;  and  I  advised  him  to  kill  the  old  hen  off. 

Buller.  And  you  cleared  the  way  by  the  premature  notice  of  her 
death,  did  you  ? 

Odoherty.  Just  so — but  had  the  facetious  paragraph  which  I  pre- 
pared to  contradict  the  melancholy  intelligence  been  inserted  in  Bal- 
lantyne's  Classical  Journal,  it  would  have  dried  all  eyes  in  the  happiest 
style  imaginable. 

Mullion.  And  why  did  it  not  appear  ? 

Odoherty.  I  took  it  myself  to  the  ofiice,  but  with  all  the  taste  and 
discrimination  which  distinguishes  the  management  of  that  weekly 
obituary  of  taste  and  fine  writing,  the  communication  was  declined, 
unless  the  editor  might  be  permitted  to  announce  that  it  was  "  from  a 
correspondent."  I  should,  however,  add,  that  the  refusal  was  couched 
in  the  poHtest  manner  possible. 

Buller.  Suaviter  in  modo,  fortiter  in  re. 

Mullion.  O  yes — the  newspaper  editors  have  of  late  grown  so 
cursedly  conscientious,  that  no  ordinary  consideration  will  induce  them 
to  insert  the  most  indirect  puff  possible,  upon  their  own  responsibility, 
save  to  serve  an  unknown  friend.* 

{Enter  a  Devil  with  a  proof-sheet^  which  is  handed  to  Odoherty 
— Hogg  looks  over  the  Ensign) s  shoulder.) 

*  A  newspaper  announced  the  suicide  of  a  much  respected  gentleman.  The  same  day,  he 
came  to  complain  of  .the  statement  as  wholly  unfounded,  and  likely  to  injure  him.  "  You  must 
insert  a  contradiction  in  to-morrow's  paper,"  said  he  to  the  editor.  "  I  will  do  what  I  consist- 
ently can  to  satisfy  you,"  was  the  reply,  "  but  as  to  admitting  that  I  was  misinformed,  or 
could  be,  it  is  out  of  the  question."  The  other  exclaimed,  "  But  I  am  here,  in  excellent  health  !" 
After  a  pause,  in  which  he  seriously  thought  upon  the  point,  the  editor  closed  the  matter  by 
saying,  "  I'll  tell  you  what  I  can  do — I  shall  say  that  the  rope  broke,  before  life  was  quite  ex- 
tinct, and  that  immediate  and  skilful  medical  assistance  restored  the  vital  spark.  Beyond 
that^  you  cannot  expect  me  to  go."  There  is  nothing,  in  a  newspaper,  so  systematic  as  pro- 
claiming your  own  infallibility  and  questioning  that  of  all  others. — M. 


1823.]  ODOHEETT'S   NOVEL.  327 

Hogg.  Eh  !  Captain — are  ye  sae  far  forrit  already  wi'  your  novel  ? 

Tickler.  How  !  Odoherty  !  are  you  really  then  at  press  with  "  The 
West  Country  ?" 

Hogg  [taking  hold  of  the  proof-sheet  and  looking  at  it).  'Deed 
is  he — and — na,  as  I'm  a  soul  to  be  saved,  he  has  a'  Gait's  folks. 
There's  Doctor  and-  Mrs.  Pringle  at  the  very  head  o'  the  chapter — the 
seventeenth  chapter. 

Omnes.  Read,  read,  Hogg  ! 

Odoherty.  There — take  it. 

Hogg  [reads).  "  The  General  Assembly," — that's  the  name  o'  this 
chapter. 

Odoherty.  No  sneers  at  the  institutions  of  the  country.  I  revere 
the  General  Assembly — I  respect  the  King's  Commissioner — I  ad- 
mire the  table  and  triumphant  arches  thereof — I  laud  the  proces- 
sion— I  love  the  Moderator's  cocked-hat  and  breakfast.  But,  proceed, 
Jamie. 

Hogg  [reads).  "  Doctor  Pringle  and  the  Mistress  took  up  their  first 
abode  at  Leith,  in  the  Exchange  Hotel,  one  of  the  quietest  houses  for 
persons  and  families  of  sedate  and  clerical  habits,  in  the  whole  coun- 
try— for  having  brought  in  their  own  carriage,  the  distance  from  Ed- 
inburgh was  of  no  consequence,  though  Mrs.  Pringle  daily  grudged 
the  high  shilling  toll  on  Leith  Walk,  and  thought  the  Baillies  of  Ed- 
inbro'  great  extortioners  for  exacting  so  much."  Odd,  Captain,  ye 
wagered  that  ye  would  write  a  book  about  the  West  in  Gait's  style — 
noo,  this  is  no  ae  bit  like  it. 

Omnes.  Proceed  !  proceed  ! 

Hogg  [reads).  "  Sir  Andrew  Wylie  had  promised  to  take  tea  with 
them — and  Andrew  Pringle  had  also  engaged  himself,  at  his  mother's 
earnest  entreaties,  to  be  present,  in  order  to  help  his  worthy  father 
and  her  to  entertain  the  little  Baronet.  The  Count  and  Countess  Mi- 
lani,  alias  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Goldenball,  had  returned  from  their  matrimo- 
nial excursion  to  the  North,  and  the  Doctor "     This,  Captain,  will 

never  do. 

Odoherty.  Turn  over  to  the  tea-making — there  you  will  find,  I  flat- 
ter myself,  some  smack  of  the  original. 

Hogg  [turns  over  a  leaf  or  two  and  reads).  "  I  ne'er,"  said  Doctor 
Pringle,  "  could  hae  thought  it  within  a  possibility,  that  after  the  sore 
trials  Mrs.  Oswald  had  come  through " 

Tickler.  Mrs.  Oswald  !  Who  the  deuce  is  she  ?  I  remember  no 
such  person  in  any  of  Gait's  works. 

Odoherty.  "  Margaret  Lyndsay  !"     The  Doctor  was  speaking  of  her.* 

Tickler.  What  has  she  to  do  in  your  work,  Odoherty  ? 

Odoherty.  Read  on,  Hogg. 

*  Wilson's  "  Trials  of  Margaret  Lyndsay."— M. 


328  NOCTES  AMBKOSIANiE.  [Junk, 

Hogg  (reads).  "  I  ne'er,"  said  Doctor  Pringle,  "  could  hae  thought 
It  within  a  possibility,  that  after  the  sore  trials  Mrs.  Oswald  had  come 
through,  she  would  have  been  so  soon  persuaded  by  Mr.  MacTaggart 
to  change  her  life." 

"  She  took  him  in  her  advanced  years  for  a  bein  down-seat,"  said 
Sir  Andrew  Wylie. 

"  Ay,  ay,"  replied  Mrs.  Pringle,  "  nane  o'  your  overly  peeous,  sweet- 
lippit  madams  for  me — Mrs.  MacTaggart — Mrs.  Oswald  that  was — I'll 
ne'er  deny  she  didna  meet  wi'  an  affliction,  but  we  hae  a'  had  our  ca- 
lamities." 

"  It's  a  very  just  observe,"  said  the  Doctor  ;  "  and  though  me  and 
^irs.  Pringle  there  have  lived  long  together  in  a  state  o'  very  pleasant 
felicity  for  mony  a  day  and  year,  yet,  if  it  be  the  Lord's  will  to  take 
me  to  himself  first,  I  would  think  it  no  sin  in  her  to  marry  again ;" 
aud  he  added,  looking  tenderly  to  the  Mistress,  "but,  deed,  Jenny,  my 
dear,  I  wouldna  like  to  see't." 

Omnes.  Bravo,  Captain  ! 

Odoherty.  Yes — I  think  you  must  allow  that  pathetic  touch  to  be 
Gait  to  the  backbone. 

Hogg.  Ye  may  brag  as  ye  like,  Captain ;  but  it's  nae  mair  like  his 
way,  than  the  baukie  bird's  like  the  peacock.  What  say  ye  till't, 
Christopher  ? 

North.  I  have  my  suspicions.  Confess  at  once,  Captain.  Throw 
}  ourself  on  our  mercy.  Acknowledge  that  Gait  assisted  you  with  the 
General  Assembly  chapter. 

Buller.  Veniat  manus  auxilio,  quae  sit  mihi 

Tickler.  But  joking  apart.    Is  Gait  really  the  author  of  these  books? 

Buller.  I  have  heard 

Omnes  {in  amazement).  What  have  you  heard  ? 

Enter  Ambrose. 

Ambrose.  Mr.  North,  a  lady  would  speak  with  you. 

North.  Me  !     'Tis  too  early  in  the  night.     What  like  is  she  ? 

Ambrose.  "  Rather  oldish." 

Odoherty.  What,  Kit — does  the  taste  of  your  loyalty  go  that  length  ? 
— But  show  the  gentlewoman  in.  [Exit  Ambrose.)    ' 

Mullion.  A  lady  inquiring  for  a  gentleman  at  Ambrose's  between 
eleven  and  twelve  ! 

Tickler.  You  never  told  us,  North,  of  your  marriage  ?  But  murder 
will  out,  you  see.     Enter  Mrs.  North  ! 

Enter  Ambrose  showing  in  Leddy  Grippy. 

Omnes  [all  rising).  Mrs.  Walkinshaw  ! 

The  Leddy.  That's  my  name  for  want  of  a  better. 


1823.] 


FAMA  CLAMOSA.  329 


North,  A  glass  for  Mrs.  Walkinshaw. 

The  Leddy.  Whilk's  Mr.  North  ? 
.  Hogg.  Yon's  him — ye  might  hae  kent  him  by  the  powdered  wig 
and  the  green  specks,  and  the  stult  at  the  chair  back. 

The  Leddy.  Hae  ye  sare  een,  Mr.  North,  that  ye  canna  thole  the 
light,  or  is't  only  because  ye  ken  that  ye  darena  look  me  in  the  face  ? 
— but  if  ye'll  no  face  me,  ye'll  maybe  hae  to  face  far  waur — for  I'll  be 
as  plain  as  I'm  pleasant  wi'  you,  Mr.  North.  This  night  I  will  hae 
justice  done,  or  the  morn's  morning  I'll  maybe  gar  you  claw  whare 
it's  no  yeuky.  Gentlemen — for  nobody  should  be  bird-mouthed  in  a 
case  of  extremity — I'll  pannel  you  for  a  jury  atween  me  and  Mr. 
North,  there  sitting,  and  ye  sail  be,  in  the  words  of  law  and  gospel,  a 
covenant  and  jurisdiction  in  the  great  thing  between  us. 

North.  I  know  nothing  about  it — I  know  nothing  about  it — if  you 
have  any  business  with  me,  call  again,  this  is  neither  a  fit  time  nor 
place. 

The  Leddy.  Warna  ye  art  and  part  guilty  of  a  fama  clamosa,  in 
the  Hebrew  tongue,  and  on  the  language  of  Scripture  ? 

North.  I  don't  understand  you,  madam.  Whatever  I  am  respon- 
sible for,«these  gentlemen  are  equally  responsible. 

The  Leddy.  Then  ye're  a'  conjoint  and  colleague  for  a  cessio  hono- 
Tum^  to  help  one  another. 

Omnes.  All  ! 

Odoherty.  May  I  be  so  bold  as  to  ask  in  what  way  does  a  gentle- 
woman of  your  years  of  discretion  desire  our  help  ? 

The  Leddy.  Touts  !  Nane  o'  your  animal  eagerness,  as  Mr.  Peveril 
the  author  ca's  't.  I  camna  here  for  pastime — but  on  a  salacious  case 
and  question ;  in  short,  I'm  an  injured  woman — a  damaged  person, 
seeking  redress  in  consequence  of  Mr.  Jamphrey 

Odoherty.  The  devil !     What  has  Jeffrey  done  to  you  ? 

The  Leddy.  Done  ! — what  hae  ye  done  to  him,  that  he  has  in  a 
manner  washed  his  hands  clean  o'  Mr.  North,  and  a'  his  connections — 
the  whilk  decision  and  verdict  on  his  part  obligates  me  to  come  here 
myself — in  propria  persona — and  form  of  pauper. 

North.  Well,  and  what  is  it  that  you  want  ? 

The  Leddy.  Heh,  Mr.  North !  but  ye're  a  pepper-box.  I  rede  you 
to  keep  ony  sma'  share  of  temper  that  ye  enjoy — ye'll  hae  need  for't 
a'.  Ye  see,  gentlemen,  as  I  was  saying,  having  had  a  comfable  wi' 
Mr.  Jamphrey,  and  hearing,  as  I  was  telling,  how  he's  under  the 
greater  and  lesser  excommunication,  and  put  to  the  horn  with  you 
and  by  you — and  is  thereby  terrified  out  of  his  senses  at  the  thought 
of  having  any  thing  to  say  to  you,  I  thought,  thinks  I,  before  the  out- 
lay o'  feeing  ither  counsel,  I  would  try  my  hand  at  an  amicable  ar- 
rangement. Mr.  North,  there  where  he  sits,  hiding  his  face  like  an 
ill-doer,  as  he  well  knows  he  is  to  me  and  mine — -But  no  to  summer 


330  NOCTES  AMBKOSIAN^.  [June, 

and  winter — in  short,  gentlemen,  I  hae  come  for  a  solacium — being 
informed  that  Mr.  North  has  been  art  and  part  in  causing  it  to  be 
set  forth  and  published  to  the  world,  that  I  Avas  dead,  though  the 
malice  prepense  was  softened,  as  Mr.  Jamphrey  said,  by  the  much  and 
justly  regretted.  Now,  is  it  not  a  most  injurious  and  damageous 
thing,  to  put  forth  a  calamity  of  that  kind  against  a  living  and  life- 
like woman  ?  For,  supposing  I  had  a  friend  in  the  jaws  o'  death — think- 
ing o'  making  his  last  will  and  testament,  wherein  he  was  mindit  to 
leave  and  bequeath  unto  me  a  handsome  legacy  in  free  gratis  gift,  as  a 
testimony  of  his  great  regard,  and  the  love  he  bare — and  supposing 
the  doctor  at  his  bedside  were  to  tell  him  I  was  dead,  or  ony  sympa- 
thizing relation  then  and  there  present  were  to  give  him  a  newspaper 
to  read,  containing  that  interesting  intelligence — and  supposing  that 
he  was  thereby  moved  to  score  me  out  of  his  will,  and  to  depart  this 
life — would  not  I  have  sustained  a  great  damage — and  could  not  I 
thereupon  constitute  a  ground  of  action,  and  raise  a  salacious  plea,  to 
damnify  me  for  the  loss,  detriment,  and  disappointment  ? 

North.  Madam  ! — you  cannot  expect  us  to  deliver  an  opinion  upon 
a  case,  to  which  it  would  appear  we  are  likely  to  be  parties. 

The  Leddy.  No — but  I'll  be  content  if  ye'll  just  compound  with  me 
for  the  felony. 

North.  We  can  never,  gentlemen,  after  such  an  appeal,  be  so  un- 
gallant  as  to  allow  a  lady  to  go  into  court. 

Omnes.  Certainly  not ;  we  shall  agree  to  her  terms  at  once. 

The  Leddy.  Then,  Mr.  North,  are  ye  willing  to  confess  a  fault  to- 
wards me  ? 

North.  I  throw  myself  at  your  merciful  feet. 

The  Leddy.  Ye  hear  that,  gentlemen ;  he  confesses  that  he  has 
been  guilty  of  raising  a  far)ia  clamosa  against  me. 

Omnes.  He  has  :  he  has  confessed. 

The  Leddy.  And  he  said  ye  were  ilk  and  a'  alike  concernt  and 
guilty,  art  and  part,  delinquent  and  culprit  in  the  case. 

Omnes.  We  did,  we  freely  own  it ;  we  are  all  responsible  for  this 
matter,  and,  like  him,  cast  ourselves  at  your  merciful  feet. 

Odoherty.  And  we  hope  your  leddyship  will  spare  us  in  the  kick- 
ing. 

The  Leddy.  I  will  do  that ;  ye'll  find  me  very  gentle. 

Tickler  {aside  to  North).  Agree  to  any  thing,  Kit,  to  get  rid  of  her. 

The  Leddy.  And,  Captain  Odoherty,  ye  hae  acknowledged  yoursel 
as  guilty  as  Mr.  North. 

Odoherty  {astonished).  What  is  she  after  now  ? 

The  Leddy.  I  take  ye  a'  to  witness,  for  I  will  produce  the  ane 
against  the  other  in  court,  that  ye  have  acknowledged  yourselves 
guilty,  with  Mr.  North,  in  the  damage  and  detriment  of  a  fama  cla- 
mosa on  me.     Noo,  though  I'm  content  with  a  solacium  of  a  hundred 


1823.]  A   STAMPEDE.  331 

pounds,  and  a  hundred  pounds  for  cost  frae  Mr.  North,  yet  I  hereby 
give  you  notice,  in  due  form  of  law,  that  I  intend  forthwith,  unless 
satisfied  in  the  interim,  to  bring  an  action  against  you  all  severally, 
saving  and  excepting  Mr.  North,  whose  offer  I  have  accepted  ;  and 
having  estimated  my  damage  at  five  thousand  pounds,  I  will  have 
that  paid  down  to  the  uttermost  farthing. 

{Exeunt  Omnes,  in  the  greatest  panic  and  consternation.) 


332 


No.  X.— JULY,  1823 


A  FRAGMENT. 


Odoherty.  Chorus  then.  Buller,  awake,  man.  Chorus,  all  of  you, 
I  say. 

Chorus  of  Contributors. 

So  ti'iumpli  to  the  Tories,  and  woe  to  the  Whigs, 

And  to  all  other  foes  of  the  nation  ; 
Let  us  be  through  thick  and  thin  caring  nothing  for  the  prigs 

"Who  prate  about  conciliation. 

Dr.  Mullion.  Bravo,  Odoherty,  bravissimo  ! — that  is  decidedly  one 
of  your  very  best  effusions. 

Odoherty.  No  blarney  to  me,  mon  ami.  I  have  taken  my  degrees 
in  that  celebrated  university.  In  candor,  however,  and  equity,  I  am 
bound  to  say,  that  I  do  think  it  a  pretty  fairish  song,  as  songs  go 
now-a-days. 

North.  Why,  it  must  be  admitted,  that  there  is  an  awful  quantity 
of  bad  songs  vented  just  now. 

Tickler.  It  must  be  the  case  as  long  as  they  issue  in  such  shoals ; 
the  bad  must  bear  a  huge  proportion  to  the  good  at  all  tim^s  ;  for  they 
are  just  the  off-throwings  of  the  ephemeral  buoyancy  of  spirit  of  the 
day  ;  and  as  actual  buoyancy  of  spirit  generally  breeds  nonsense,  and 
affectation  of  it  is  always  stupidity,  you  must  e'en  be  content  witJi  youi* 
three  grains  of  wheat  in  a  bushel  of  chaff. 

North.  Yes,  yes — they  must  be  from  their  very  nature  ephemeral. 
Which  of  all  our  sonps — I  don't  mean  particularly  those  of  the  present 
company — but  of  all  the  songs  now  written  and  composed  by  all  the 
song-writers  now  extant — will  be  alive  a  hundred  years  hence  ? 

Odoherty.  Just  as  many  as  are  now  alive  of  those  written  and  com- 
posed, as  you  most  technically  phrase  it^  a  hundred  years  since. 

Tickler.  And  that  is  but  poor  harvest  indeed.  Look  over  any  df  the 
song-books  that  contain  the  ditties  of  our  grandmothers  or  great-grand- 
mothers, and  you  will  scarcely  ever  turn  up  a  song  familiar  to  any  body 
but  professed  readers. 

Odoherty.  More's  the  pity.    By  all  that's  laughable,  the  reflection 


July,  1823.]  DK-   KITCHENER.  833 

saddens  me.  "  Pills  to  purge  Melanclioly,"  has  become  a  melancholi- 
ous  book  in  itself.  You  read  page  after  page,  puzzling  yourself  to 
make  out  the  possibility — how  any  human  mouth  could  by  any  device 
have  got  through  the  melodies — the  uncouth  melodies 

Buller.  You  know  Tom  D'Urfey's  plan  ?  He  used  to  take  a  country 
dance,  the  more  intricate  the  better — for  as  you  see  by  his  dedication,  he 
prided  himself  on  that  kind  of  legerdemain — and  then  put  words  to  it 
as  well  as  he  could. 

Odoherty.  I  know — -I  know — but  I  was  saying  that  it  is  an  unpleas- 
ant sort  of  feeling  you  have  about  you,  when  you  peruse,  like  a  grop- 
ing student,  songs  that  you  are  sure  made  palace  and  pot-houses  ring 
with  jollity  and  fun  in  the  days  of  merry  King  Charles,  and  warmed 
the  gallantry  of  the  grenadiers  of  Britain  at  the  siege  of  Namur,  under 
hooked-nose  Old-glorious,*  or  of 

Our  counti'ymen  in  Flanders 

A  hundred  years  ago, 
"When  they  fought  like  Alexanders 

Beneath  the  great  Marlboro'. 

North.  Ay,  "  the  odor's  fled."  They  are  like  uncorked  soda-water. 
Honest  Tom  D'Urfey,  I  think  I  see  him  now  in  my  mind's  eye,  Ho- 
ratio. Holding  his  song-book  with  a  tipsy  gravity,  and  trolling 
forth 

Joy  to  great  Csesar, 

Long  life  and  pleasure, 

with  old  Rowley  leaning  on  his  shoulder,  partly  out  of  that  jocular 
familiarity  which  endeared  him  to  the  people  in  spite  of  all  his  rascal- 
ities, and  partly  to  keep  himself  steady,  humming  the  bass. 

Buller.  Have  you  seen  Dr.  Kitchener's  book  ? 

North.  I  have,  and  a  good,  jovial,  loyal  book  it  is.  The  Doctor  is, 
by  all  accounts,  a  famous  fellow — great  in  cookery,  medicine,  music, 
poetry,  and  optics,  on  which  he  has  published  a  treatise.f 

Odoherty.  I  esteem  the  Doctor. 

North.  The  devil  you  do  1 — after  cutting  him  up  so  abominably  in 
my  Magazine,  in  an  article,  you  know,  inserted  while  I  was  in  Glas- 
gow, without  my  knowledge. 

Odoherty.  Why  are  you  always  reminding  a  man  of  his  evil-doings  ? 

*  William  III.,  whose  "  pious,  glorious,  and  immortal  memory"  used  to  be  the  Orange  charter 
toast  in  Ireland. — M. 

t  Dr.  William  Kitchener,  more  distinguished  by  gastronomic  than  medical  knowledge,  wrote 
a  book  called  "  The  Cook's  Oracle,"  invented  neAV  and  improved  old  dishes,  had  his  friends, 
as  a  "committee  of  taste,"  to  pass  judgment  upon  them  at  dinner,  had  very  pleasant  conver- 
saziones for  the  male  and  female  literati,  and  enjoyed  life  much.  He  insisted  on  punctuality, 
and  had  a  placard  over  his  chimney-piece,  inscribed,  "  Come  at  seven,  go  at  eleven."  George 
Colman  slily  interpolated  a  monosyllable,  making  the  line  run,  "  go  it  at  eleven."  Optics  and 
music,  as  well  as  gastronomy,  supplied  subjects  for  Kitchener's  pen.    He  died  in  1827. — M. 


334  NOCTES  AMBROSIAN^.  [July, 

Consider  that  I  have  been  white-washed  by  the  Insolvent  Court  since, 
and  let  all  my  sins  go  with  that  white-washing.  To  cut  the  matter 
short,  I  had  a  most  excellent  cookery-book  written,  founded  on  the 
principles  practised  in  the  99th  mess,  and  was  going  to  treat  with 
Longman's  folks  about  it,  when  Kitchener  came  out,  and  pre-occupied 
the  market.  You  need  not  wonder,  therefore,  at  my  tickling  up  the 
worthy  Doctor,  who  himself  enjoyed  the  fun,  being  a  loyal  fellow  to 
the  backbone ;  a  Tory  tough  and  true.  We  are  now  the  best  friends 
in  the  world. 

Mullion.  Well,  let  that  pass — what  song-writer  of  our  days,  think 
you,  will  live  ? — Moore  ? 

North.  Moore !  No,  he  has  not  the  stamina  in  him  at  all.  His 
verses  are  elegant,  pretty,  glittering,  any  thing  you  please  in  that  line ; 
but  they  have  defects  which  will  not  allow  them  to  get  down  to  pos- 
terity. For  instance,  the  querulous  politics,  on  your  local  affairs, 
Odoherty,  which  make  them  now  so  popular  with  a  very  large  class 
of  your  countrymen,  are  mere  matters  of  the  day,  which  will  die  with 
the  day ;  for  I  hope  you  do  not  intend  to  be  always  fighting  in  Ireland? 

Odoherty.  I  do  not  know  how  that  will  be — better  fighting  than 
stagnating ;  but,  at  all  events,  I  hope  we  will  change  the  grounds  some- 
what— I  hate  monotony  ;  I  trust  that  my  worthy  countrymen  will  get 
some  new  matter  of  tumult  for  the  next  generation. 

North.  It  is  probable  that  they  will — and  then,  you  know,  Moore's 
— "  Oh  !  breathe  not  his  name,"  "  Erin,  the  tear,"  &c.,  &c.,  will  be  just 
as  forgotten  as  any  of  the  things  in  Hogg's  Jacobite  relics. 

Tickler.  Which  will  ever  stand,  or  rather  fall,  as  a  memento  of  the 
utter  perishableness  of  all  party  song-writing. 

North.  And  then  there's  Moore's  accursed  fancy  for  showing  off  learn- 
ing, and  his  botany,  and  zoology,  and  meteorology,  and  mythology. 

Odoherty.  O  ay,  and  the  mixed  metaphor,  and  the  downright  non- 
sense— the  song  you  quoted  just  now  could  be  finely  amended. 

North.  What  song  ? 

Odoherty.  "  Erin,  the  smile,  and  the  tear  in  thine  eyes,  blend  like 
the  rainbow,"  &c.  Now,  that  is  a  washy,  watery  comparison  for  my 
hard-drinking  country.  I  lay  £5  that  a  jug  of  punch  would  be  a  more 
accurate  and  truly  philosophical  emblem  ;  as  thus.  There's  the  Pro- 
testant part  of  the  population  inferior  in  quantity,  superior  in  strength, 
apt  to  get  at  the  head,  evidently  the  whisky  of  the  compound.  The 
Roman  Catholics,  greater  in  physical  proportions,  but  infinitely  weaker, 
and  usually  very  hot,  are  shadowed  forth  by  the  water.  The  Orange- 
men, as  their  name  implies,  are  the  fruit,  which  some  palates  think  too 
sour,  and  therefore  reject,  while  others  think  that  it  alone  gives  grate- 
ful flavor  to  the  whole. 

Mullion.  And  what's  the  sugar  ? 

Odoherty,  Why,  the  concihators  dropped  in  among  us  to  sweeten 


1823.]  SONG   OF   A   FALLEN   ANGEL.  335 

our  acidity — and  you  know  some  think  that  they  have  supplied  with 
too  Kberal  a  hand — very  much  at  the  risk  of  turning  the  stomachs  of 
the  company. 

North.  A  hopeful  illustration — but  in  truth,  Odoherty,  your  whole 
conversation  is  redolent  of  nothing  but  drink. 

Odoherty.  I  am  like  Tom  Moore's  First  Angel — the  gentleman  with- 
out a  name,  and  admire  compotation,  not  exactly  "  the  juice  of  Earth," 
however,  as  Tom  calls  it,  that  being,  I  take  it,  ditch-water. 

Mullion.  You  never  saw  the  song  Tom  intended  for  this  drunken 
angel  of  his  after  his  fall  ? 

Odoherty.  Not  I — parade  it — is  it  not  in  the  poem  ? 

Mullion.  No  ;  Denman,  who  is  Moore's  doer  of  late,  cut  it  out,  just 
as  he  cut  up  the  Fables.*     I  have  a  copy,  however,  which  I  shall 


SONG   OF   A   FALLEN   ANGEL   OVER   A   BOWL   OF   RUM-PUNOH. 

ByT.M.,  Esq. 

Heap  on  more  coal  there, 

And  keep  the  glass  moving, 
The  frost  nips  my  nose, 

Though  my  heart  glows  with  loving. 
Here  s  the  dear  creature, 

No  skylights — a  bumper; 
He  who  leaves  heeltaps 
I  vote  him  a  murqper. 

With  hey  cow  rumble  O, 

Whack !  populorum, 
Merrily,  merry  men. 
Push  round  the  jorum. 

What  are  Heaven's  pleasures 

That  so  very  sweet  are  ? 
Singing  from  psalters. 

In  long  or  short  metre. 
Planked  on  a  wet  cloud 

Without  any  breeches, 
Just  like  the  Celtic, f 

Met  to  make  speeches. 

With  hey  cow  rumble,  <fee. 

Wide  is  the  difference. 

My  own  boozing  bullies. 
Here  the  round  punch-bowl 

Heap'd  to  the  full  is. 

*  It  was  believed  that  Moore's  "  Fables  for  the  Holy  Alliance"  were  submitted  to  Lord  Den- 
man, then  Common  Sergeant  (one  of  the  local  judges)  of  London,  previous  to  publication,  that 
he  might  decide  on  the  question  how  libellous  they  were. — M. 

t  The  Celtic  Society,  at  their  annual  dinner,  always  wore  the  kilt  — M. 


336  NOCTES   AMBROSIAIT^.  [July, 

Then  if  some  wise  one 

Thinks  that  up  "  yonder" 
Is  pleasant  as  we  are, 

Why — he's  in  a  blunder. 

With  hey  cow  rumble,  <fec. 

North.  A  very  hopeful  and  well-behaved  angel,  by  my  word. 

Mullion.  Enough  of  Moore.     Campbell 

North.  Has  written  one  song  which  I  hope  will  live  long  as  "  the 
flag  of  Old  England  waves  lordly  in  pride," — that  is,  I  hope  for  ever.  I 
mean  the  Mariners  of  England. 

Tickler.  A  glorious  song  indeed  !  But  Campbell  has  disgraced  him- 
self by  a  shabby  song,  in  the  New  Monthly,  about  the  Spaniards.  It 
is  not  fit  for  a  gentleman  like  Campbell  to  fall  into  the  filthy  slang  of 
the  blackguards  of  the  press,  and  write  low  stuff"  about  Prince  Hilt,"^  or 
to  call  the  grand  old  stainless  flag  of  France  (which  he  knows — the 
blackguards  do  not — is  linked  with  so  many  splendid  recollections)  the 
"  White  emblem  of  white  liver." 

Dr.  Mullion.  Some  of  Sir  Walter's  songs  will  certainly  live. 

North.  Perhaps — those  in  his  Poems  and  his  Novels,  if  they  are 
his ;  but  I  do  not  recollect  any  thing  particular  of  any  other  ;  and,  in 
point  of  fact,  you  never  do  hear  them  sung  by  any  body.  Bishop,  by 
the  way,  has  very  poorly  set  County  Guy,  very  poorly  indeed. 

Odoherty.  I  like  Bishop,  a  worthy  pleasant  fellow  ;  but,  somehow 
or  other,  I  think  his  music  generally  but  compilation, — a  bar  from  this 
body  and  a  bar  from  that  body — curiously  indented  and  dovetailed,  I, 
admit,  but  still  only  joinery  and  cabinet-making.f 

North.  Nobody  has  said  a  word  about  Byron.;); 

Tickler.  Dead  as  Harry  the  Eighth,  and  it  is  a  pity.  Heavens ! 
who  can  think  that  the  author  of  Childe  Harold,  and  Manfred,  and 
Don  Juan,  should  have  sunk  to  what  he  is  now,  a  scribbler  in  a  dirty 
magazine,  and  a  patron  of  the  Hunts !  It,  however,  speaks  volumes 
in  favor  of  the  morality  of  the  country,  after  all,  when  we  find  that 
even  genius,  such  as  his,  must  sink,  if  it  dares  oppose  what  we  are 
still  determined  to  call  religion  and  loyalty. 

Odoherty  {handing  The  Island  to  North)..  I  have  brought  down 
Christian.!     Would  you  wish  to  look  at  it? 

Buller.  Does  it  sell  ? 

Odoherty.  Not  at  all,  though  the  third  edition  is  advertised.  I  was 
told  at  Longman's  that  they  had  not  disposed  of  a  hundred.  It  would 
have  a  better  chance  with  Murray ;  but  he  and  his  lordship  have  bro- 

*  So  the  Due  d'Angouleme  was  called. — M. 

t  Mr.  Bishop,  who  has  composed  several  operas,  and  the  music  for  hundreds  of  songs,  was 
elected  Professor  of  Music  in  the  University  of  Oxford,  and  has  been  knighted. — M. 

X  In  August,  1823,  Byron  embarked  at  Genoa,  on  his  last,  and  glorious  visit  to  Greece.— M. 

§  "  The  Island,"  which  contains  some  passages  as  fine  as  Byron  ever  produced,  was  written 
in  Genoa,  and  published  in  June,  1823. 


1B23.]  *'tHE   ISLAl^D."  337 

ken,  after  a  furious  quarrel.  The  correspondence  between  them  is 
said  to  be  curious. 

Buller.  Of  course  we  shall  have  an  awful  libel  on  Joannes  de  Mo- 
ravia in  due  time. 

Odoherty.  I  hope  so,  from  the  bottom  of  my  soul ;  for  then  Murray 
will  take  vengeance  in  turn.  I  had  rather  than  a  tenpenny,  and  that 
cash,  we  could  print  Byron's  Critique  on  the  Pot  of  Basil. 

Tickler,  Faugh,  don't  mention  it. 

North.  Christian,  I  see,  is  a  poor  thing,  with  a  good  bit  here  and 
there  in  it,  but  not  the  least  originality.  He  is  the  old  hero — the 
Lara,  the  Conrad,  the  fellow  of  whom  his  lordship  found  the  germ  in 
Miss  Lee's  Kruitzner,  transported  to  Botany  Bay,  or  thereabouts,  where, 
instead  of  mosques,  and  kiosks,  and  tambourgis,  and  phingaris,  we  are 
entertained  with  Toobonai,  and  Boolootoo,  Mooa,  Figi,  Hooni,  Licoo, 
Guatoo,  Goostrumfoo,  et  omne  quod  endeth  in  oo.  And  the  woman- 
kind are  the  old  womankind,  not  a  bit  the  worse  for  the  wear. 

Tickler.  Yes,  and  you  have  the  same  amazing  industry  in  trans- 
ferring Bligh's  Narrative,  that  he  has  shown  so  often  before.  But  the 
introduction,  and  indeed  some  other  passages,  remind  us  of  the  better 
days  of  Byron.     Listen ! 

"  The  morning  watch  was  come ;  the  vessel  lay 
Her  course,  and  gently  made  her  liquid  way ; 
The  cloven  billow  flashed  from  off  her  prow, 
In  furrows  formed  by  that  majestic  plough ; 
The  waters  with  their  worlds  were  all  before ; 
Behind,  the  South  Sea's  many  an  islet  shore. 
The  quiet  night,  now  dappling,  'gan  to  wane, 
Dividing  darkness  from  the  dawning  main ; 
The  dolphins,  not  unconscious  of  the  day. 
Swam  high,  as  eager  of  the  coming  ray ; 
The  stars  from  broader  beams  began  to  creep, 
And  lift  their  shining  eyelids  from  the  deep; 
The  sail  resumed  its  lately  shadow'd  white. 
And  the  wind  fluttered  with  a  fresh'ning  flight; 
The  purple  ocean  owns  the  coming  sun, 
But  ere  he  break — a  deed  is  to  be  done." 

Odoherty.  Very  toploftical,  to  be  sure.  Commend  me  to  the  pane- 
gyric on  what  our  friend  Fogarty  (from  whom  his  lordship  seems  to 
have  taken  the  idea)  calls  "  Tobacco,  lord  of  plants." 

But  here  the  herald  of  the  self-same  mouth 
Came  breathing  o'er  the  aromatic  south. 
Not  like  a  "bed  of  violets"  on  the  gale, 
But  such  as  wafts  its  cloud  o'er  grog  or  ale, 
Borne  from  a  short  frail  pipe,  which  yet  had  blown 
Its  gentle  odors  over  either  zone, 
And  puff  'd  where'er  winds  rise  or  waters  roll. 
Had  wafted  smoke  from  Portsmouth  to  the  Pole, 
VOL.  I.  15 


338  NOCTES    AMBROSIAN^.  [JuLT, 

Opposed  its  vapor  as  the  lightning  flashed, 
And  reek'd,  'midst  monntain-billows  unabash'd, 
To  ^olus  a  constant  sacrifice, 
Through  every  change  of  all  the  varying  skies. 
And  what  was  he  who  bore  it?     I  may  err, 
But  deem  him  sailor  or  philosopher. 

Sublime  tobacco !  which  irom  east  to  west 

Cheers  the  tar's  labor  or  the  Turkman's  rest ; 

Which  on  the  Moslem's  ottoman  divides 

His  hours,  and  rivals  opium  and  his  brides ; 

Magnificent  in  Stamboul,  but  less  grand. 

Though  not  less  loved,  in  Wapping  or  the  Strand ; 

Divine  in  hookas,  glorious  in  a  pipe, 

When  tipp'd  with  amber,  mellow,  rich,  and  ripe, 

Like  other  charmers  wooing  the  caress 

More  dazzlingly  when  daring  in  full  dress ; 

Yet  thy  true  lovers  more  admire  by  far 

Thy  naked  beauties — Give  me  a  cigar ! 

And  as  we  are  talking  of  it,  do  hand  us  over  that  paper  of  Cotton's 
best,  until  I  blow  a  cloud. 

North.  Why,  Odoherty,  you  have  scarcely  brought  us  any  news 
from  London. 

Odoherty.  How  could  you  expect  blood  from  a  turnip  ?  There's  no 
news  there.  Parliament  was  just  spinning  down,  when  I  quitted  the 
city,  as  drowsily  as  a  tetotum — nothing  doing  in  the  monde  litteraire — 
the  Haymarket  gay,  to  be  sure,  and  our  friend  Terry,*  drollest  of 
actors,  as  he  is  among  the  worthiest  of  men,  making  the  populace 
laugh — but  I  brought  you  down  a  special  article  on  London,  from  a 
friend  of  mine,  which  will  tell  you  every  thing  tellable,!  so  you  need 
not  pump  me. 

Br.  Mullion.  Did  you  see  any  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  press 

Odoherty.  Saw  the  whole  goodly  army  of  martyrs  in  full  array ; 
just  as  stupendously  dull  as  ever,  and,  unless  I  mistake,  more  vicious^ 
to  speak  as  a  jockey  among  the  lower  orders,  than  varmint.  When  I 
knew  the  body  first,  they  were  a  fine  hard-drinking,  pudding-headed 
race,  who  just  got  through  their  balaam  as  fast  as  their  fingers  would 
let  them — spouted  at  the  Eccentrics — regaled  themselves  with  cheese 
and  porter,  and  occasionally,  when  the  funds  were  good,  with  Hollands 
and  water,  not  caring  a  single  sixpence  for  politics,  or  thinking  them- 
selves at  all  primed  up  with  the  opinions  they  were  advocating — and 
there  are  still  some  of  that  good  old  school  surviving,  with  two  or 

*  Terry,  who  was  very  intimate  with  Scott  and  his  friends,  made  his  reputation  at  Edinburgh 
Theatre.  In  1819,  he  became  manager  of  the  Haymarket  Theatre,  London,  and  joint  lessee 
and  manager  with  Yates  of  the  Adelphi  in  1825.    He  died  in  1828. 

t  This  special  article  was  the  leader  in  Blachwood,  for  July,  1823,  and  was  written  by  Dr. 
Maginn,  who  had  removed,  a  short  time  before,  from  Cork  to  London.  The  article  bears  the 
name  of  "  London  Oddities  and  Outlines,"  and  is  smart,  lively,  and  satirical. — M. 


1823.]'  THE   PEESS-GANG.  339 

three  of  whom  I  got  misty  one  night  at  Offley's'" — but,  sir,  the  Cock- 
ney portion  of  them  have  been  horribly  altered  for  the  worse. 

North.  How? 

Odoherty.  The  poor  creatures  have  actually  set  up  to  have  opinions 
of  their  own — the  idiots — and  to  have  personal  quarrels,  and  animosi- 
ties, and  principles,  and  fiddle-de-dee. 

Tickler.  Mighty  audacious.  Can't  they  eat  their  victuals  when 
they  get  them  in  peace  ? 

North.  The  newspaper  press  is  unquestionably  becoming  very  base. 
What  a  hideous,  a  detestable  attack,  some  of  the  Whig  and  Radical 
papers  made  on  John  Bull ! 

Odoherty.  Well,  do  the  press-gang  itself  justice  !  There  was  almost 
a  universal  outcry  at  that  brutal  -business  even  among  themselves.  It 
was  abominable.     John,  however,  put  it  down  like  a  man. 

North.  Well  now,  had  the  unfortunate  Beaconites,  which  we  still 
have  thrown  in  our  faces,  though  heaven  knows  their  worst  crime  was 
stupidity,  done  any  thing  approaching  that  in  atrocity,  what  an  up- 
roar would  have  been  raised  by  the  whole  Whig  party  ! 

Tickler.  And  deservedly,  for  they  would  have  been  base  assassins ; 
but  the  Whigs  may  do  any  thing — the  basest  as  well  as  the  most 
malignant  of  people. 

Odoherty  {sings). 

1. 

Eail  no  more,  Tories,  rail  no  more ; 

Whigs  are  but  asses  ever, 
On  land,  on  wave,  on  sea,  on  shore, 
All  rascals  of  white  liver. 
Then  rail  not  so, 
But  let  them  go, 
And  be  you  blithe  and  bonny. 
Converting  sounds  of  wrath  and  woe 
Into  hey  ninny  !  nonny. 

2. 

Sing  merry  ditties,  and  no  mo 

Of  lumps  so  dull  and  heavy ; 
The  heads  of  Whigs  were  ever  so, 

Since  summer  first  was  leavy. 
Then  rail  not  so,  &c. 

There's  a  touch  Shakspearian  for  you,  in  the  twinkling  of  a  bedpost. 

North.  You  are  not  drinking  any  thing,  Tickler. 

Tickler.  I  cannot  say  I  like  your  wine.  It  is  souring  on  my  stom- 
ach. 

North.  Cannot  you  get  spirits  then  ?     I'll  concoct  a  jug. 

*  Near  Covent  Garden— now  Evans's. — M, 


340  NOCTES  AMBEOSlANiE.  [July,  1823. 

Tickler.  So  be  it.     {Sings) 

Drink  to  me  only  from  a  jug, 

And  I  will  pledge  in  mine  ; 
So  fill  my  glass  with  wliisky  punch, 

And  I'll  not  look  for  wine. 
The  thirst  that  in  my  throat  doth  rise 

Doth  ask  a  drink  divine ; 
But  might  I  of  Jove's  nectar  sip. 

That  honor  I'd  resign. 

The  second  verse  is  not  worth  parodying.  Ay,  this  is  something 
like.     Your  health,  Mr.  Editor. 

North.  Mr.  Tickler,  I  have  the  pleasure  of  drinking  your  very  good 
health.  Apropos,  has  not  Boone  pubhshed  a  poem*  on  things  in  gen- 
eral ? 

Odoherty.  I  saw  one  in  a  certain  place  sadly  mutilated,  and  have 
read  only  two  pages.     It  is  a  puff  on  Mr.  Canning. 

Tickler.  Very  superfluous,  therefore.  It  is,  moreover,  a  good  joke 
to  see  the  great  man  of  the  Council  of  Ten,  the  essence  of  gravity, 
thinking  to  flatter  the  witty  Antijacobin  by  his  balaam. 

North.  Canning  must  have  laughed  at  the  idea,  in  his  sleeve,  I 
mean — for  a  minister  can  never  laugh  otherwise. 

Buller.  I  suppose  he  addressed  the  book, 

O  Boone,  ne  te 

Frustrere. 


*  This  was  entitled  "  Men  and  Things  in  1823,  a  Political  Sketch,  in  Three  Epistles,  to  the 
Right  Hon.  Geo.  Canning,  with  copious  Notes.  By  James  Shergold  Boone,  M.  A." — Of  poem 
and  poet,  I  am  free  to  confess  utter  ignorance. — M. 


341 


No.  XL— AUGUST,  1823. 

North.  Nay,  do  not  blush,  Ensign.     I  thought  you  had  dipped  in 
the  Shannon.     I  believe  you  sing  extempore  ? 

Mullion.  Ay,  and  ex-trumpery. 

North.  Curse  your  punning.     Quaver  away  this. 

{Throwing  M.  a  paper ^ 

Mullion  {hums  apreludio).  Then,  therefore,  give  due  audience  and 
attend.     Milton,  hem  ! 

1.    . 

The  birds  have  sung  themselves  to  rest, 

That  sang  around  our  bower  ; 
The  weight  of  the  night-dew  has  bow'd 

The  head  of  every  flower. 


The  ringing  of  the  hunter's  horn 

Has  ceased  upon  the  hill, 
The  cottage  windows  gleam  with  light, 

The  harvest  song  is  still. 

3 

And  safe  and  silent  in  the  bay 
Is  moor'd  each  fisher's  prow. 

Each  wearied  one  has  sought  his  home, 
But  where,  my  love,  art  thou  ? 


I  pick'd  a  rose,  a  red  blush  rose, 

Just  as  the  dews  begun, 
I  kiss'd  its  leaves,  but  thought  one  kiss 

Would  be  a  sweeter  one. 


I  kept  the  rose  and  kiss,  I  thought 

How  dear  they  both  would  be  ! 
But  now  I  fear  the  rose  and  kiss 

Are  kept  in  vain  for  thee ! 

Really  a  very  pretty  song.     It  was  spoony  in  you  to  drop  it  out  of 
your  pocket,  Odoherty ! 


34:2  NOCTES   AMBROSIAl^^.  [AuG. 

Odoherty.  And  amazingly  genteel  in  you  to  sing  it  under  the  cir- 
cumstances. It  was  about  as  bad  as  Brougham's  reading  in  Parlia- 
ment Mr.  Saurin's  letter,  picked  out  of  Lord  Norbury's  pocket* 

North.  Is  the  author  a  secret  ? 

Odoherty.  Not  the  least.  Rest  her  soul !  she  died  of  love.  Her 
name  was  Quashie  Maboo — quite  a  sentimental  negress,  who  kept 
a  canteen  in  the  Bowery  Way,  New  York.  Poetry  and  peach-brandy 
were  the  death  of  her.  I  got  her  a  great  wake  in  1816,  for  she  was 
tenderly  attached  to  me. 

North.  Wilberforce  ought  to  quote  this  song  as  a  proof  of  negro 
capacity.     Was  she  pretty  ? 

Odohorty.  Yes,  black  but  comely — she  squinted  furiously,  but  it 
passed  for  ogling ;  and  I  can  assure  you  her  pine-apple  rum  was 
superb. 

MulUon.  You  were  then  a  rum  customer,  I  take  it.  Apropos  of 
love,  Tom  Moore  is  in  Ireland,  I  understand. 

North.  So  I  am  informed  by  letter  from  Killarney.  He  travels  in 
the  train  of  the  Marquis  of  Lansdowne,f  who  is  visiting  his  Irish 
estates. 

TicJder.  Tom  goes  as  joculator,  I  suppose.  Lansdowne,  when  in 
office,  was  distinguished  as  a  dancing-master,  and  gave  Thomas,  if  I 
mistake  not,  the  place  in  the  West  Indies  for  his  piping. J; 

North.  I  do  not  blame  him  for  that.  I  rejoice  to  see  literary  merit 
patronized,  but  there  was  something  base  and  grovelling — in  a  word, 
something  truly  Whig — in  the  ruffian  treatment  Dibdin§  experienced 
from  the  gang  which  got  into  power  in  1806. 

Tickler.  Dirty  revengeful — and  beggarly  to  the  last  degree.  They 
could  not  forgive  him  for  having,  in  his  glorious  songs,  stirred  the 

*  Mr.  Shell,  in  his  "  Sketches  of  the  Irish  Bar,"  (Article,  Lord  Norbnry,  vol.  ii.,  p.  83,)  gives 
a  different  and  uncontradicted  version.  Norbury  "  was  in  the  habit  of  stuffing  papers  into 
the  old  chairs  in  his  study,  in  order  to  supply  the  deficiency  of  horse-hair  which  the  incum- 
bency of  eighty  years  had  produced  in  their  bottoms.  At  last,  however,  they  became,  even 
with  the  aid  of  this  occasional  supplement,  unfit  for  use,  and  were  sent  by  his  Lordship  to  a 
shop  in  which  old  furniture  was  advertised  to  be  bought  and  sold.  An  individual  of  the  name 
of  Monaghan  got  one  of  these  chairs  into  his  possession,  and,  finding  it  stufified  with  papers, 
drew  them  out.  He  had  been  a  clerk  in  an  attorney's  ofiBce,  and  knew  Mr.  Saurin's  hand- 
writing."— It  was  a  letter  from  Saurin,  the  first  law-ofiicer  of  the  Crown  in  Ireland,  to  Lord 
Norbury,  Chief  Justice,  recommending  him,  when  on  circuit  in  the  King's  County,  to  talk  to 
Protestant  gentlemen  about  and  against  the  Catholics  and  their  claims  !  The  authenticity  of 
the  letter  was  undoubted,  the  affair  was  discussed  in  Parliament,  and  the  then  Tory  Ministry 
effectually  screened  Norbury  and  Saurin  ! — M. 

t  Mrs.  Gilpin,  we  are  told  by  Cowper,  was  economical,  and  had  a  frugal  mind,  even  wheii 
"  She  to  pleasure  was  inclined." 
Moore  might  have  been  her  blood-relation,  adroitly  managing,  on  most  occasions,  to  "  travel 
in  the  train  "  of  somebody  who  paid  all  the  expenses.     In  his  Diary  are  numerous  records  of 
this.— M. 

X  No, — Moore  was  appointed  Registrar  to  the  Admiralty  Court,  at  Bermuda,  in  1803,  and  Lord 
Lansdowne  did  not  enter  office  until  1806  !— M. 

§  Dibdin,  who  wrote  a  great  number  of  patriotic  sea-songs,  during  the  naval  contests  which 
terminated  at  Trafalgar,  received  a  Government  pension,  in  acknowledgment  of  the  service 
they  had  done  by  inspiring  and  exciting  the  British  tars.  When  the  Whigs  came  into  office 
in  1806,  they  struck  Dibdin's  name  out  of  the  pension-list !  As  a  party,  they  had  opposed  th** 
war,  and  were  determined  to  punish  the  poet  for  doing  any  thing  to  encourage  it. — M. 


1823.] 


DTJKE   OF   SUSSEX.  343 


spirit  of  Britain  against  their  friends  the  Jacobins ;  and  accordingly, 
in  his  old  age,  the  filthy  fellows  deprived  him  of  a  pension  which  he 
had  earned  by  services  to  his  country,  more  solid  than  the  nine-tenths 
of  those  which  have  been  the  foundation  of  many  a  Whig  property. 

North.  Well,  well — they  stick  to  one  another,  however ;  which  is 
more  than  can  be  said  of  other  people  who  shall  be  nameless.  You 
know  we  have  often  contrasted  the  different  treatment  experienced  by 
this  very  Tommy  Moore  and  Theodore  Hook,  under  the  very  same  cir- 
cumstances.* 

Odokerty.  Theodore,  however,  is  winding  up  after  all,  and  must 
eventually  be  cleared  of  all  slur.  If  the  details  of  his  case  were  pub- 
lished, it  would  be  the  expose  of  all  the  most  rascally  piece  of  pitiful 
persecution  ever  heard  of;  and  I  hope  it  will  be  published  some  fine 
day  or  other. 

Mullion.  You  have  heard  Theodore's  joke  on  his  misfortune  ? 

Buller.  N"o,  never.     [Aside.)  Plus  millies  jam  audivi. 

Mullion.  Poh,  man,  you  must  have  heard  it ;  it  is  in  print.  When 
he  came  from  the  Isle  of  France,  he  touched  at  the  Cape  of  Good 
Hope,  where  he  met  Lord  Charles  Somerset.  "  Bless  me,"  said  his 
lordship,  "  what  sends  you  home  so  soon,  Hook — a  complaint  in  your 
liver  ?" — "  No,"  replied  Theodore  ;  "  a  disorder  in  my  chest."  You 
certainly  heard  it  ? 

North.  Why,  yes ;  it's  almost  as  venerable  as  any  thing  in  Joe 
Miller. 

Mullion.  I  was  aware  of  that,  and  only  told  it  as  a  preface  to  the 
Duke  of  Sussex's  admirable  version  of  the  story.  The  Duke,  you 
know,  is  very  bright. 

Odoherty.  Yes,  as  one  of  Lambton's  coal-scuttles. 

Mullion.  And  hates  Theodore,  whom  he  suspects — with  what  rea- 
son I  cannot  say — of  having  demolished  him  in  Bull.f 

Tickler.  Why,  certainly,  his  highness  has  no  great  reason  to  be 
obliged  to  the  tribe  of  Bull ;  for  he  was  only  suspected  to  be  a  block 
head  formerly,  but  now  is  written  down  as  an  ass  regular. 

Mullion.  Well,  sir,  an  ultra  fit  of  candor  every  now  and  then  seizes 
on  him,  and  he  panegyrizes  Hook's  wit.  "I  don't  like  the  man,  sir," 
he  says — "  I  don't  like  the  man ;  but  to  do  him  justice ;  let  us  be, 
fair ;  he's  a  droll  fellow,  sir — a  droll  fellow ;  he  tells  you  a  good  thing 
— a  devilish  good  thing  now — ha,  ha,  ha ! — a  most  excellent  thing. 
You  know  he  was  at  the  Isle  of  France ;  ay,  and  he  came  back  from 


*  Both  had  held  colonial  appointments  of  trust.  Each  had  suffered  by  his  deputy's  miscon- 
duct. Hook  was  sent  home  in  chains,  and  not  even  his  own  friends,  the  Tories,  wiped  away 
the  claim,  but  even  seized  his  property  while  he  Avas  dead  and  unburied.  Moore  fluttered 
about  in  sodety,  spent  a  season  or  two  at  Paris,  (with  occasional  flights  to  London,)  and  finally 
compromised  for  a  few  hundreds. — M. 

+  Theodore  Hook,  as  Editor  of  John  Bull,  spared  no  leader  of  the  antagonist  Whig  party. 
The  Duke  of  Sussex,  pompous  and  proud,  was  frequently  a  victim. — M. 


344:  NOCTES   AMBEOSIA^^.  [AuG. 

the  Isle  of  France  too — ha,  ha,  ha  1  and  we  all  know  why — ha,  ha, 
ha  !  Well,  then,  coming  home,  he  stopped  at  the  Cape  of  Good 
Hope — some  place  in  India,  you  know — where  he  met  Charles  Som- 
erset. Says  Charles  to  him,  '  Why,  Hook,'  says  he,  '  what  the  devil,' 
says  he,  '  brings  you  home  ?  I  hope,'  says  he,  '  it  is  nothing  ails  your 
liver?'  Well,,  now,  just  mind  what  Hook  said — devilish  good — very 
good,  faith — I  don't  like  the  man,  sir — I  don't  like  the  man  ;  but  let 
us  be  fair;  he  is  a  droll  fellow,  sir — a  droll  fellow.  'No,'  says  Hook, 
'nothing  ails  my  liver — never  was  better  in  my  life,'  says  he  ;  'but 
there  is  a  deficiency  in  my  accounts,  which  I  must  go  over  to  answer.' 
Ha,  ha,  ha !  Devilish  good,  was  it  not  ?  AVhen  I  heard  it  first,  every 
body  laughed.     Ha,  ha,  ha  !" 

Tickler.  You  are  a  capital  mimic,  Mullion.  I  wish  Mathews  had 
that  story. 

North.  No,  no  ;  it  would  be  scandalous  to  bring  a  prince  of  -the 
blood  on  the  stage.  Remember  that  he  is  a  son  of  George  HI.,  and 
brother  of  George  IV. 

Tickler.  Pooh !  Mathews  could  tell  it  of  Signor ,  or 

any  other  of  the  Duke's  select  circle. 

Mullion.  Who,  by  the  ^ay,  regularly  laugh  at  the  joke,  whenever 
it  pleases  the  Duke  to  tell  it.  It  is  his  highness's  best  story,  and  is 
always  told  on  great  occasions,  state  days,  holidays,  and  the  like. 

North.  Come,  gentlemen,  change  the  subject,  if  you  please.  I  do 
not  like  to  hear  any  thing  disparaging  to  any  son  of  him,  who,  no 
matter  what  king  may  reign,  shall  be  king  of  my  heart  to  the  end  of 
the  chapter. 

Come  fill  up  your  wine. 

Look,  fill  it  like  mine ; 

Here,  boys,  I  begin, 

A  good  health  to  the  King  I 

Tims,  see  it  go  round, 

Whilst  with  mirth  we  abound. 

Chorus. 

For  we  will  be  dull  and  heavy  no  more, 

Since  wine  does  increase,  and  there's  claret  good  store. 

Nay,  don't  us  deceive 


Odoherty.  Upon  honor,  I  filled  a  bumper  fi^om  the  foundation. 
North.  I  did  not  address  you^  my  good  fellow.     I  spoke  to  Mullion, 
who  is  fighting  shy ;  but  do  not  interrupt  me. 

Nay,  don't  us  deceive, 

Why  this  will  you  leave? 

The  glass  is  not  big, 

What  the  deuce,  you're  no  Whig. 

Come,  drink  up  the  rest, 

Or  be  merry  at  least. 


1823.1 


"  'tis   m  VAIN  TO   COMPLAIN." 


345 


Chorus. 

For  we  will  be  dull  and  heavy  no  more, 

Since  wine  does  increase,  and  there's  claret  good  store. 

Tickler.  Out  of  PiHs  to  Purge  Melancholy,  if  I  mistake  not  ? 

North.  Yes,  from  the  aforesaid.  It  was  a  favorite  chant  of  worthy 
Dr.  Webster,  some  forty  years  ago,  when  we  used  to  meet  in  the  Gude 
Auld  Town,  at  the  White  Horse  in  the  Canongate.  Many  a  scene  I 
have  got  through  since  the  Aughty-Three.  "  And  I  said,  the  days  of 
my  youth,  where  are  they  ?     And  Echo  answered,  Where  are  they  ?" 

Odoherty.  Pr'ythee,  no  more  of  your  antediluvian  recollections — 
your  dramas  of  the  ancient  world. 


EEt 


■-P 


=t: 


'Tis      in   vain    to     corn-plain,  In       a     me  - 


-J-. 


N=^ 


cho  -  ly     strain,  Of    the 


li^ii 


'— r-^-r— ^— fe^=it=: 


#- 


days  that      are    gone,  And     will  nev  -    er     come    a   -  gain. 


Be       Ave 


:=E 


^^E 


^ 


I 


gay    while     we    may.  At      what  -  ev  -  %r      time     of       day,      Be      our 


fe5=SEE^!^^SSi^ 


'•=t 


t- 


locks  ber  -  ry  brown,  Or  be  -  mottled     o'er   with  gray. 


Be       our     locks  be: 


-S 


ii 


our     locks  ber  -    ry  brown,  Or       be  -  mot  -  tied  all       with  gray. 

2 
"We  have  laughed, 
"We  have  quaffed, 
"We  have  raked  it  fore  and  aft. 
But  out  of  pleasure's  bowl  have  not  emptied  all  the  draught. 
Never  mind 
Days  behind. 
But  still  before  the  wind, 
Float  after  jolly  souls,  full  flasks,  and  lasses  kind. 

Buller.  Extempore?     Stans  pede  in  uno? 

15* 


346  NOCTES   AMBEOSIAN^.  [Aug. 

Odohety.  Yes,  on  honor.     I  was  seized  with  a  fit  of  poetical  fury. 

Buller.  You  are  almost  as  great  as  Pistrucci  himself. 

Odolierty.  I  knock  under  to  Coleridge  only ;  for  he  makes  verses 
asleep.     I  make  music  sometimes  in  that  state,  but  never  poetry. 

North.  Have  you  heard  Coleridge's  late  epitaph  on  himself,  which 
Jie  composed  in  that  way  % 

Tickler.  No.     Repeat  it. 

North. 

Here  lies  poor  Cole,  at  length  and  without  screaming, 
Who  died  as  he  was  always  wont,  a-dreaming; 
Shot,  as  with  pistol,  by  the  gout  within, 
Alone,  and  all  unknown,  at  Embro'  in  an  inn. 

Tickler.  "Alone,  and  all  unknown,  at  Embro'  in  an  inn."  How 
mournful  and  musical !  I  hope,  before  the  day  comes  when  my  epi- 
taph will  be  required  for  him,  he  will  have  the  firmness  to  put  forth 
his  strength,  and  take  his  place  among  our  great  men. 

Mullion.  What  are  you  thinking  of,  Ensign  ? — You  don't  hear  what 
any  body  says  to  you.     You  did  not  hear  the  Epitaph. 

Odoherty.  Beg  your  pardon — beg  your  pardon  a  thousand  times 
over — I  was  looking  at  these  prints — they're  new  ones  surely. — What 
the  devil  are  they  ? 

North.  Pooh!  they're  some  new  afi'airs — materials  that  Dr.  Mullion 
has  got  together  for  his  Lectures  on  the  Fine  Arts. 

Odoherty.  Oh  !  is  that  the  case  ?     What  are  the  subjects,  pray  ? 

Mullion.  Don't  you  see  well  enough  what  they  are  ? — -Why,  they're 
the  new  set  of  prints  come  out  by  way  of  illustrations  to  Leigh  Hunt's 
poem  of  "  The  Choice,"  in  the  last  Liberal.  I  shall  lecture  on  them 
one  of  these  days. 

Odoherty.  The  artist  ? 

Mullion.  Nay,  as  to  that  I  can't  say.  There's  no  name  to  the 
articles ;  but  'tis  whispered  that  they  are  Haydon's. 

Odoherty.  Haydon's  ? — Impossible  ! — impossible — not  the  least  like 
his  style.*     Why,  they  seem  to  be  mere  caricatures. 

Mullion.  Not  a  bit^^ — I  assure  you  'tis  all  dead  earnest.  There  is 
much  gusto  about  them — a  fine  free  sweep  of  pencil — a  delicate  sense 
of  the  grace  of  things.  They're  very  pretty  sweet  prints.  I  intend  to 
make  Ambrose  a  present  of  them  after  my  lecture  is  fairly  done  and 
delivered. 

Odoherty.  By  jingo,  I  can't  make  either  head  or  tail  of  these  things. 

*  Haydon  mistook  his  vocation,  when  he  became  a  Historical  Painter, — although  he  was  as 
good,  in  that  line,  as  most  of  his  contemporaries.  As  a  teacher  he  was  never  surpassed.  Land- 
seer,  Lance,  Harvey,  Eastlake,  and  a  score  more,  are  living  examples  of  this.  They  were  his 
pupils.  As  a  public  lecturer  on  the  principles  and  practice  of  painting,  no  one  ever  ap- 
proached him.  He  was  written  down,  talked  down,  sneered  down  by  the  Royal  Academy, 
which  should  have  invited  him  to  accept  its  highest  honors.  His  mind  was  overthrown,  and 
he  perished  by  his  own  hand,  on  June  22, 1846.— M. 


1823.] 


347 


There  should  have  been  a  motto,  or  something,  at  the  bottom,  to  let 
one  into  the  artist's  meaning.     What,  now,  is  this  here  one,  Mullion  ? 

Midlion.  There  are  mottoes  to  each  of  them,  taken  from  the  poem 
itself;  but  the  frame-maker  has,  by  some  mistake,  covered  them  with 
his  pasteboard  and  gilding.  Here,  however,  is  the  Liberal,  No.  IV. 
I  believe  I  can  easily  point  out  the  appropriate  passages  for  your 
benefit. 

Odoherty.  That's  a  good  fellow.  Well,  then,  what  is  the  hit  alluded 
to  here  ? — (I  haven't  seen  the  last  Liberal  myself  yet.) 

Mullion.  This  print,  sir,  represents  his  Majesty  of  Cockaigne  in  the 
attitude  of  doing  what  he  says  in  his  poem  he  is  very  fond  of — admir- 
ing Nature. 

Odoherty.  Nature  ? — Why,  he's  at  the  tea-table. 

Mullion.  No  matter — he's  admiring  the  "  Goal  of  life." 

Odoherty.  The  Bowl  of  life,  you  mean — he  has  the  Slop-basin  in 
his  dexter  paw. 

Mullion.  Well — and  what  should  he  have  ?  He  is  talking  in  the 
poem  about  bowers  and  showers,  and  treeses  and  breezes,  and  so  forth ; 
and  he  breaks  out  into  this  fine  apostrophe,  which  is  the  motto  to  your 
print : 

"  Come  then,  ye  scenes  of  quiet  and  content, 
Ye  Goals  of  life,  on  which  our  hearts  are  spent, 
Meet  my  Worn  eyes — I  love  you  even  in  vales 
Of  cups  and  saucers,  and  such  Delfie  dales " 

Are  not  they  sweet  natural  lines  ? 

Odoherty.  Why,  Wales  is  a  pretty  country — and  I  dare  say,  even 
on  delft-ware,  such  as  he  seems  to  have  on  his  table,  the  representation 
yet  may  be  charming.  Seriously,  this  print  gives  us  an  amicable  idea 
of  his  Majesty.  

Kempferhausen.  Dear  divine  enthusiast !  Well,  only  to  think  of 
people  making  a  laughing-stock  of  this  innocent-hearted,  good,  worthy, 
gentle  soul,  that  is  quite  happy,  quite  upon  the  air,  with  having  a  rural 
peep  of  a  few  blue  trees  and  cottages  on  a  piece  of  crockery  ware ! — 
For  shame  !  for  shame  ! 

Odoherty.  What  the  deuce  is  this  grand  roll,  North  ? 

North.  You  talk  of  Dr.  Mulhon's  lectures — I  would  have  you  know, 
I  mean  to  cut  in  upon  that  series  of  his  myself.  In  a  word,  here  goes 
my  lecture  on  these  prints,  and  on  the  poem  from  which  they  sprung. 
I  shall  read  it  to  you.     Listen,  boys  ! 

MR.  north's    lecture    ON    "  THE    CHOICE," 

A  Poem  recently  tvritteti  hy  Leigh  Hunt,  a  Convert  and  Vice-Poet-Laureate  to 
Blackwood's  Magazine. 

Our  innumerable  deHghtful  qualities  of  head  and  heart,  and,  above 
all,  our  invincible  good  nature,  have  at  last  made  a  complete  convert 


348  NOCTES   AMBROSIAN^.  [AuQ 

of  Leigh  Hunt,  and  he  is  never  happy  except  when  lauding  Black 
wood's  Magazine  to  the  seventh  heaven.  JSTo  sooner  does  he  put  on 
his  yellow  breeches,"^  in  the  morning  early,  than  he  trips  crisply  down 
from  his  attic  story  into  the  breakfast-parlor,  and  seasons  every  mouth- 
ful of  muffin  with  the  mustard  of  Ebon3^  He  cannot  write  a  note  to 
Mr.  Pygmalion  the  painter,  or  Mistress  Molly  the  charwoman,  with- 
out trumpeting  our  praises ;  and  will  sit  up  for  hours  together  in  his 
bed,  with  bis  perked-up  mouth,  and  swaling  night-cap,f  gazing  him- 
self away  through  an  opening  in  the  dimity,  on  a  striking  likeness  of 
us,  sketched  by  our  common  friend  Haydon,  during  his  last  visit  to 
Scotland.  He  is  absolutely  possessed — haunted — waylaid — bedridden 
— not  by  an  Incubus,  God  forbid,  but  by  a  most  affable  and  benign 
spirit,  hight  Christopher  North,  who  purifies,  by  gentle  ministrations, 
the  corruptions  of  his  Cockney  blood,  and  so  fills  his  brain  with 
"  fancies  chaste  and  noble,"  that  he  is  henceforth  appointed  our  Vice- 
Poet-Laureate,  with  a  salary  of  four  gallons  of  gin-twist,  and  a  keg  of 
best  Dunbar  red-herrings,  to  be  paid  at  Hampstead  at  "  ten  of  April 
morn,  by  the  chime."  Let  no  envious  railer  scoff  at  Leigh  Hunt  as  a 
placeman  and  pensioner.  No  doubt,  the  situation  is  a  lucrative  one, 
and  with  judicious  economy,  our  laureate,  if  he  may  not  live  upon  it 
and  lay  by  money,  cannot  fail  to  become  a  richer  man  every  year.  He 
must  not,  however,  buy  any  more  busts  of  those  "down-looking"  Greeks, 
and  we  recommend  him  (if  he  has  not  done  so  already)  to  sell  his 
piano-forte.  He  has  but  an  indifferent  ear  for  instrumental  music,  and 
tuning  is  expensive.  The  position,  too,  either  of  a  man  or  a'  Cockney, 
at  the  ivories,  is  below  the  dignity  of  our  laureate,  and  unworthy  an 
eater  of  red-herrings.  The  barrel-organ  is  a  preferable  instrument; 
and  we  have  heard  that  Mr.  Hunt's  execution  upon  it  is  to  be  equalled 
only  by  his  command  over  the  hurdy-gurdy.  But  we  are  intruding 
into  the  sacred  privacy  of  domestic  life,  and  therefore  shall  not  again 
panegyrize  Mr.  Hunt's  musical  powers,  our  Laureate  although  he  be, 
till  we  have  the  pleasure  of  meeting  him  in  the  street  with  a  salt-box,  or 
in  a  lane  with  a  Highland  bagpipe.  Meanwhile,  let  him  be  to  us  our 
Magnus  Apollar. 

We  refer  such  of  our  readers  as  may  not  have  heard  of  Mr.  Leigh 
Hunt,  to  various  papers  in  this  miscellany  with  the  signature  Z.  These 
will  tell  what  he  was ;  but  we  have  his  own  words  for  what  he  wishes 
to  be ; — and  the  following  morceaux  are  from  the  intended  life  of  our 
Vice-Laureate,  adumbrated  or  shadowed  forth  in  his  beautiful  poem, 
"  The  Choice."! 

*  Leigh  Hunt  was  educated  at  Christ's  Hospital,  London,  The  dress  of  the  school-boys  there 
consists  of  no  cap,  (the  head  is  always  uncovered,  and  a  small  woollen  covering,  such  as  would 
be  too  small  for  a  four-hours-old  baby,  is  worn  on  the  girdle,)  a  long  blue  frock,  festooned 
round  the  waist  by  a  leathern  belt,  a  girdle,  yellow  'breeches  and  stockings,  and  thick  shoes.— M. 

t  "  With  a  perked  feather  swaling  in  his  bonnet."  The  line  was  to  be  found  in  Hunt's  "  Ri- 
mini."   He  has  cut  it  out  of  the  later  editions. — M. 

\  See  Liberal,  No.  IV.— C.  N. 


1823.]  LEIGH   HUKT.  349 

The  poem  opens  with  a  panegyric  upon  Pomfret,  the  author  of  that 
great  original  poem  The  Choice,  on  which  Mr.  Hunt's  is  modelled. 

"  I  have  been  reading  Pomfret's  Choice  this  spring, 
A  pretty  kind  of-sort-of-kind  of  thing, 
]S"ot  much  a  verse,  and  poem  none  at  all, 
Yet,  as  they  say,  extremely  natm^al. 
And  yet  I  know  not.     There's  a  skill  in  pies, 
In  raising  crusts  as  well  as  galleries ; 
And  he's  the  poet,  more  or  less,  who  knows 
The  charm  that  hallows  the  least  thing  from  prose, 
And  dresses  it  in  its  mild  singing  clothes. 
Poetry's  that  which  sets  a  thought  apart, 
To  worship  Nature  with  a  choral  heart : 
And  may  be  seen  where  rarely  she  intrudes, 
As  birds  in  cages  make  us  think  of  woods. 
Beaux  have  it  in  them,  when  they  love  the  faces 
Of  country  damsels,  and  their  worsted  graces," 

"  Mild  singing  clothes."  What  are  they  ?  Not  surely  your  yellow 
breeches,  Mister  Hunt.  Perhaps  caps  and  hells.  Are  kilts  mild  sing- 
ing clothes?  Petticoats  are  liker  the  thing  when  they  rustle.  The 
two  last  lines  are  not  original,  but  filched  from  the  Filcher.  They 
were  shown  publicly  in  prose  by  the  new  Pygmahon  some  time  ago, 
that  is,  without  their  mild  singing  clothes.  And  pray,  our  good  Vice- 
Laureate,  what  may  they  mean  ? — When  a  Cockney  chucks  a  country 
wench  under  the  chin,  and  gloats  upon  her  linsey-woolsey  petticoat,  call 
you  that  "  poetry  ?"  The  author  of  Rimini  ought  to  know  better ;  but 
we  hope  that  he  is  merely  shamming  innocence  to  please  us ;  in  which 
hope  we  are  strengthened  by  the  subsequent  strapping  Alexandrine — 

"  The  ladies  rise  in  heaps,  and  give  them  sweet  admissions  T 

A  little  further  on,  our  Vice  shows  he  is  no  such  simpleton  about 
such  affairs  as  he  would  pretend  to  be ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  some- 
what peevishly  complains,,  that,  in  the  present  day,  a  man  cannot 
write  lusciously  and  liquorishly  without  being  shook  by  the  ears,  or 
nose-pulled  by  some  Z.  or  other. 

"  Else  I  would  print  my  fancy  by  itself, 
And  be  '  a  love '  on  every  lady's  shelf ; 
Perhaps  I  shall  be  so  some  day  or  other,"  <fec. 

Promiscuous  concubinage  not  yet  being  the  order  of  the  day,  the 
publication  of  the  "  loves"  alluded  to  is  deferred  till  a  fitter  opportunity  ; 
and  meanwhile  the  Vice  writes,  he  tells  us,  such  verses  as  "smile  on 
tables  in  the  parson's  nose."  For  smile,  nostra  periculo^  read  smell. 
How  elegant  the  use  of  the  word  parson !  And,  altogether,  what  dig- 
nified and  gentlemany  ease  does  Mr.  Hunt  exhibit  in  these  his  "  mild 


350  NOCTES   AMBROSIAN.S:.  [Auo. 

singing  clothes !"     Instead  of  one,  he  shall  have  two  kegs  of  Dunbar 
reds. 

But  now  for  him.     Hear — hear — hear ! 

"  First,  oa  a  green  I'd  have  a  low,  broad  house, 
Just  seen  by  travellers  thi'ough  the  garden  boughs ; 
And  that  my  luck  might  not  seem  i)  I  bestowed, 
A  bench  and  spring  should  greet  them  on  the  road. 
My  grounds  should  not  be  large ;  I  like  to  go 
To  Nature  for  a  range,  and  prospect  too, 
And  cannot  fancy  she'll  comprise  for  me, 
Even  in  a  park,  her  all-sufficiency: 
Besides,  my  thoughts  fly  far ;  and  when  at  rest, 
Love,  not  a  watch-tower,  but  a  lulling  nest. 
But  all  the  ground  I  had  should  keep  a  look 
Of  Nature  still,  have  birds'-nests  and  a  brook; 
One  spot  for  flowers,  the  rest  all  turf  and  trees : 
For  I'd  not  grow  my  own  bad  lettuces. 
And  above  all,  no  house  should  be  so  near, 
That  strangers  should  discern  me  here  and  there ; 
Much  less  when  some  fair  friend  was  at  my  side. 
And  swear  I  thought  her  charming, — which  I  did. 
I  am  not  sure  I'd  have  a  rookery ; 
But  sure  I  am  I'd  not  live  near  the  sea. 
To  view  its  great  flat  face,  and  have  my  sleeps 
Filled  full  of  shrieking  dreams  and  foundering  ships ; 
Or  hear  the  drunkard,  when  his  slaughter's  o'er, 
Like  Sinbad's  monster  scratching  on  the  shore. 
I'd  live  far  inland,  in  a  world  of  glades, 
Yet  not  so  desert  as  to  fright  the  maids: 
A  batch  of  cottages  should  smoke  beside ; 
And  there  should  be  a  town  within  a  morning's  ride." 

Our  Vice  says,  "  My  grounds  should  not  be  large."  His  grounds  ! 
— Leigh  Hunt's  grounds  ! — A  gentleman  of  landed  property  ! — A  Sur- 
rey freeholder  ! — What  do  you  mean  b}''  "  not  large,"  Vice  ?  It  is  an 
indefinite  expression.  What  think  you  of  a  couple  of  hundred  acres  ? 
— "  No  low,  broad  house"  should  ever  have  less  than  an  estate  of  that 
extent,  at  least  in  a  ring-fence.  Now,  is  not  this  rather  exorbitant? 
Consider  also  the  danger  of  losing  yourself  in  a  multitudinous  sea  of 
Swedish  turnips — the  dead  certainty  of  being  lost  for  ever — or  found 
a  skeleton,  of  several  months'  lying,  in  a  potato-furrow.  Besides,  what 
a  most  idiotical  style  of  farming  you  here  chalk  out  for  yourself! 
"  One  spot  for  flowers,  and  the  rest  all  turf  and  trees."  That  would 
never  pay.  Do  you  intend  to  sell  the  birds'-nests  at  Covent-Garden 
market — eggs,  or  broods  and  all  ?  If  so,  you  must  study  nidification  ; 
for  if  you  have  only  a  "  flower-garden,  turf,  and  trees,"  and  nothing 
else,  devil  a  singing-bird  will  build  his  nest  near  yom*  "  low,  broad 
house,"  except  it  be  a  barn-door  fowl  or  a  guinea-pig.  Farther,  what 
.sort  of  a  brook  will  that  be,  without  ever  a  stone,  or  a  rock,  or  an  old 
rotten  stump,  to  amuse  itself  with  I     Such  a  brook  would  be  an  object 


1823.]  A   COCKKEY's    PARADISE  !  351 

of  the  deepest  compassion  in  dry  weather  ;  and,  indeed,  unless  you  had 
a  .draw-well,  of  which  no  mention  is  made,  what  is  to  become  of  the 
tea-kettle  ?  You  say,  "  I  am  not  sure  I'd  have  a  rookery."  There  you 
are  right ;  for  when  you  and  some  fair  friend  were  strolling  through 
the  grove,  and  you  were  swearing  you  thought  her  charming — "which 
you  did" — down  haply  would  plump  an  epaulette  on  each  of  our 
Vice-Laureate's  shoulders,  which  would  be  no  small  nuisance  to  your 
fair  friend,  and  stop  the  current  of  her  ideas.  But,  my  good  soul,  you 
speak  doubtfully  about  the  rookery,  just  as  if  you  could  order  the 
rooks  to  build  on  any  morning  you  chose  to  appoint.  Take  our 
advice,  and  have  no  rookery.  Rook-pies  are  disgusting ;  and  then  a 
crowd  of  Cockneys  would  be  firing  away  at  the  young  hop-the-twigs 
every  spring,  to  the  great  annoyance  of  yourself  and  fair  friend,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  positive  danger  of  flying  ramrods  and  split  barrels.  Let 
it  be  fixed,  therefore,  that  there  shall  be  no  rookery.  "  Not  so  desert 
as  to  fright  the  maids."  Do  you  mean  here,  simply,  your  brace  of 
servant  girls,  or  maids  in  general  ?  "  The  maids"  is  an  equivocal 
expression ;  so  is  "  fair  friend ;"  and  really  all  these  inuendoes  set 
one's  tooth  on  edge,  and  look  more  like  Odoherty  himself  than  his 
Vice.  "  A  batch  of  cottages"  is  far  more  elegant  than  a  batch  of 
Peers,  or  a  batch  of  bread  ; — and  "  within  a  morning's  ride"  leaves 
the  distance  of  the  town  in  a  pleasing  obscurity. — So  you  seriously 
intend  keeping  a  horse  ?  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it,  both  on  your  account 
and  his  own.  He  will  have  poor  picking  on  the  turf  among  the  trees, 
and  will  come  down  with  you  to  a  certainty.  Keep  a  cuddy,  and  let 
him  browse  in  the  lanes  ;  but  on  no  account  whatever  venture  upon 
horseback.  Your  fair  friend  would  have  nothing  else  to  do  but  to 
make  plasters ;  and  we  humbly  conceive,  that  this  "  morning's  ride" 
will  furnish  a  fundamental  objection  to  your  villa.  Take  the  coach  at 
once,  or  borrow  a  shandrydan  at  the  "  batch  of  cottages,"  from  the 
pig-dealer  ;  and  so  jog  into  town  in  safety. 

Aha !  my  friend  !  you  are  at  your  old  tricks — we  knew  we  should 
catch  you  at  last.  Next  comes  the  old  imageman,  with  his  batch  of 
gods  and  goddesses  on  his  board  ;  and  Mr.  Hunt  purchases  about  a 
dozen  nudities  for  the  moderate  sum  of  eighteen-pence  a-pair,  rough 
and  smooth. 

"  And  yet  to  show  I  had  a  taste  withal, 
I'd  have  some  casts  of  statues  iu  the  hall, 
Or  rather  entrance,  whose  sweet  steady  eyes 
Shoud  touch  the  comers  with  a  mild  surprise, 
And  so  conduct  them,  hushing  to  my  door, 
Where,  if  a  friend,  the  house  should  hear  a  roar. 
The  grateful  beggar  should  peep  in  at  these. 
And  wonder  what  I  did  with  Popish  images." 

Next  our  Laureate  says  he  could  write  and  read, 


353  NOCTES   AMBROSIAK^.  fAua. 

"  Till  it  was  time 
To  ride  or  -walk,  or  on  the  grass  go  rhyme." 

Stop  a  moment,  if  you  please — no  riding.  You  forget  that  we  al- 
ready put  our  veto  on  that.  It  is  not  so  easy  a  matter  for  a  man  at 
your  time  of  life  to  learn  to  ride.     Gracious  heavens  !  are  you  mad  ? 

"  I'd  never  hunt,  except  the  Fox,  and  then 
Not  much,  for  fear  I  should  fall,"  &e. 

Hunting  the  Fox  a  little  !  Only  imagine  him  breaking  cover.  Why, 
you  fly  over  your  horse's  ears  at  the  first  ditch,  six  inches  wide.  First 
of  all,  you  talk  of  riding  to  town — on  paper — your  brain  and  your 
bottom  warm — and  nothing  will  satisfy  you,  but  to  Hunt  the  Fox. 
0,  Editor  of  the  Annals  of  Sporting !  what  wouldst  thou  not  give  for 
a  sight  of  our  worthy  Vice-Laureate  leading  the  Surrey  Hunt,  Rey- 
nard in  view,  and  Tims  whipper-in  !  After  Hunting  the  Fox,  but 
"  not  much,^^  Mr.  Hunt  thinks  himself  equal  to  any  display  of  bodily 
vigor,  and  declares — 

"  All  manly  games  I'd  play  at :  golf,  and  quoits, 
And  cricket,  to  set  all  my  limbs  to  rights. 
And  make  me  conscious,  with  a  due  respect, 
Of  muscles  one  forgets  by  long  neglect. 
But  as  for  prize-fights,  with  their  butchering  shows. 
And  crowds  of  black-legs,  I'd  have  none  of  those ; — 
I  am  not  bold  in  other  people's  blows. 
Besides,  I  should  reside  so  far  from  town, 
Those  human  waves  could  never  bear  me  down — 
"Which  would  endear  my  solitude,  I  own. 
But  if  a  neighbor,  fond  of  his  antiques. 
Tried  to  renew  a  bout  or  two  at  sticks, 
I'd  do  my  best  to  force  a  handsome  laugh 
Under  a  ruddy  crack  from  quarter-staff; 
Nor  think  I  liad  a  right  to  walk  my  woods, 
Coy  of  a  science  that  was  Robin  Hood's. 
'Tis  healthy,  and  a  man's  ;  and  would  assist 
To  make  me  wield  a  falchion  in  my  fist. 
Should  foes  arise  who'd  rather  not  be  taught, 
And  war  against  the  course  of  truth-exploring  thought." 

This  is  a  good  passage.  But  what  if  Bill  Gibbons  should  some 
day  pitch  the  ring  for  a  fight  between  the  Bush-Cove  and  Cabbage, 
with  the  ropes  belonging  to  the  P.  C.  in  Mr.  Hunt's  Park  ?  Fifty 
miles  from  town  is  no  security  against  such  an  invasion  ;  and  surely 
Mr.  Hunt  would  not  countenance  the  Beaks.  "What  would  honest 
Robin  Hood  have  thought  of  the  expression,  "  coy  of  a  science  V  If 
our  Vice  would  consider  the  matter  for  a  minute  or  two,  he  would  be 
sensible  of  the  extreme  ludicrousness  of  the  most  remote  comparison 
between  himself  and  Robin  Hood.  He — with  his  yellow  breeches, 
silk  hat,  red  slippers,  and  shabby-genteel  surtout,  picking  his  steps, 
within  sound  of  the  dinner-bell,  among  a  few  beds  of  tulips  and  peony- 


1828.]  POMFEET.  353 

roses,  or  selecting  a  dry  spot  of  Ms  "  turf  and  trees,"  that  lie  might 
"  on  the  grass  go  rhyme,"  or  scribble  a  literary  Examiner — and  that 
immortal  Bowman  of  the  Forest !  Tims,  personating  Bruce  at  Ban- 
nockburn  in  our  Tent,  was  nothing  to  the  King  of  the  Cockneys,  with 
a  quarter-staff  in  his  lily  hand,  enacting  the  Outlaw  of  Sherwood  ! 

Such  pastimes,  however,  would  be  but  rare,  and  never  allowed  to 
interfere  with  our  bard's  severer  studies.     For 

"  I'd  write,  because  I  could  not  help  it ;  read 
Much  more,  but  nothing  to  oppress  my  head  ; 
For  heads  are  very  different  things  at  ease, 
And  forced  to  bear  huge  loads  for  families. 
Still  I  would  think  of  others  ;  use  my  pen, 
As  fits  a  man  and  lettered  citizen, 
And  so  discharge  my  duty  to  the  state ; 
But  as  to  fame  and  glory,  fame  might  wait, 
Nevertheless,  I'd  write  a  work  in  verse, 
Full  of  fine  dreams  and  natural  characters  ; 
Eastern,  perhaps,  and  gathered  from  a  shore 
Whence  never  poet  took  his  world  before. 
To  this  sweet  sphere  I  would  retire  at  will, 
To  sow  it  with  delight,  and  shape  with  skill ; 
And  should  it  please  me,  and  be  roundly  done, 
Td  launch  it  into  light,  to  sparkle  round  the  sun." 

I^Tow,  high  as  our  opinion  is  of  our  laureate's  abilities  and  genius,  we 
offer  to  lay  six  guineas  of  wire  wove  gilt  to  a  pound  of  whitey-brown 
that  not  two  hundred  copies  of  this  Eastern  Tale  are  sold  within  the 
two  years.  Instead  of  "  sparkhng  round  the  sun,"  it  will  lie  a  heavy 
bale  in  a  dark  warehouse  ;  and  if  printed  at  his  own  risk,  Mr.  Hunt 
will  find  himself  some  twenty  or  thirty  pounds  out  of  pocket.  Our 
Vice-Laureate  must  therefore  give  up  all  idea  of  "  launching  it  into 
light,"  and  confine  himself  to  his  Odes  on  our  Birthday,  and  the  An- 
niversary Hymn  on  the  creation  of  the  Magazine. 

Pomfret,  we  are  told,  got  into  a  row  with  some  bishop  or  other,  on 
account  of  a  suspicious  line  in  his  poem,  which  was  thought  to  re- 
commend a  kept  mistress,  in  preference  to  a  wife.  Mr.  Hunt  is  face- 
tious on  this  in  a  note ;  but  it  puzzles  us  to  know,  from  the  following 
passage,  whether  he  holds  the  opinion  erroneously  attached  to  the 
"  Parson." 

"In  pleasure  and  in  pain,  alike  I  find 
My  face  turn  tenderly  to  womankind ; 
But  then  they  must  be  truly  women, — not 
Shes  by  the  courtesy  of  a  petticoat. 
And  left  without  inquiry  to  their  claims, 
Like  haunted  houses  with  their  devil's  dams. 
I'd  mend  the  worst  of  women,  if  I  could, 
But  for  a  constancy,  give  me  the  good ; — 
I  do  not  mean  the  formal  or  severe, 
Much  less  the  sly,  who's  all  for  character ; 


354  NOCTES  AMBEOSIAK^.  [Aug. 

But  such  as,  in  all  nations  and  all  times, 

Would  be  good  creatures,  j&t  for  loving  rhymes, 

Kind,  candid,  simple,  yet  of  sterling  sense, 

And  of  a  golden  age  for  innocence. 

Of  these  my  neighbors  should  have  choice  relations ; 

And  I  (though  under  certain  alterations) 

I  too  would  bring — (though  I  dislike  the  name ; 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Pomfret  did  the  same ; 

Let  its  wild  flavor  pass  a  line  so  tame;) — 

A  wife, — or  whatsoever  better  word 

The  times,  grown  wiser,  might  by  law  afford 

To  the  chief  friend  and  partner  of  my  board. 

The  dear,  good  she,  by  every  habit  then, — 

Ties  e'en  when  pleasant,  very  strong  with  men  ; 

Though  your  wise  heads  first  make  one's  system  wrong, 

And  then  insist  that  only  theii's  last  long, — 

Would  finish,  and  make  round  in  every  part. 

The  natural  harmony  of  her  own  wise  heart ; 

And  by  the  loss  of  something  of  her  right 

Of  being  jealous,  consummate  delight. 

Gods!  how  I'd  love  her  morning,  noon,  and  night !" 

Now,  who  and  what  the  devil  is  this  madam  ?  How  is  she  to  be 
named  ?  Miss,  or  Mistress  ?  What  alteration  does  our  mysterious 
friend  mean  to  make  on  the  Marriage  Law  ?  Has  he  communicated, 
with  the  Lord  Chancellor,  my  Lord  Ellenborough,  Dr.  Phillimore,  and 
the  blacksmith  at  Gretna-Green  ?  What  is  there  peculiarly  odious, 
loathsome,  and  repulsive  in  the  word  "  wife,"  that  Mr.  Hunt  should 
publicly  express  his  dislike  of  it,  "  in  mild  singing  clothes  ?"  What 
word  would  he  prostitute  in  its  place  ?  Or  what  is  the  matter  with 
the  tympanum  of  his  ear,  or  the  core  of  his  heart,  that  a  word  sacred 
to  all  the  rest  of  his  species,  should,  to  him,  sound  unhallowed  ? 

On  he  goes. 

"  I'd  have  my  mornings  to  myself.     Ev'n  ladies 
Should  not  prevent  me  this,  except  on  May-days; 
Unless  we  fairly  struck  our  tents  awhile. 
To  stroll,  like  gipsies,  round  about  the  isle ; 
A  plan  I  might  be  bent  on,  I  confess. 
Provided  colds  would  give  xis  leave,  and  dress, 
And  twenty  other  inconveniences. 
Pd  give  up  even  my  house  to  live  like  them. 
And  have  a  health  in  every  look  and  limb, 
To  which  our  best  perceptions  miist  be  dim. 
A  gipsy's  body,  and  a  poet's  mind. 
Clear  blood,  quick  foot,  free  spirit,  and  thought  refined, 
Perpetual  airs  to  breathe,  and  loves  to  bind, — 
Such  were  the  last  perfection  of  mankind." 

It  does  not  seem  to  us,  that  the  difficulties  in  the  way  of  putting  this 
scheme  into  practice  are  at  all  insurmountable.  What  if  some  two  or 
three  of  the  party  should  have  a  cold,  cannot  they  take  with  them  a 
few  boxes  of  lozenges,  and  a  score  of  aperient  powders  ?    In  a  few  days, 


1823.]  NOETH   ON  HUNT.  355 

all  obstructions  will  be  worked  off;  and  the  Blanket-Tent  will  murmur 
beneath  the  moon  with  a  mellower  and  more  subdued  snore.  In  a 
Blanket-Tent,  we  presume,  the  gipsying  party  mean  to  shelter ;  and 
do  not  forget  now  to  provide  for  yourselves  a  sufficient  stock  of  horn 
for  the  manufactory  of  ornamental  spoons.  As  to  dress,  about  which 
Mr.  Hunt  seems  to  be  so  unhappy,  let  him  boldly  take  with  him  his 
yellow  breeches  in  a  bandbox ;  and  every  day  before  dinner,  he  can 
put  them  on  most  rurally  in  a  ditch  by  the  roadside,  exhibiting 

"  The  last  perfection  of  mankind, 
A  gipsy's  body,  and  a  poet's  mind." 

As  to  the  "  twenty  other  inconveniences,"  we  consider  them,  what- 
ever they  are,  quite  imaginary ;  and  the  party  will  find  both  luxuries 
and"  necessaries  in  every  wood. 

On  returning  home  from  this  pretty  little  wild  excursion,  Mr.  Hunt 
once  more  "  takes  up  house  ;"  and  he  really  gives  himself  the  charac- 
ter of  a  very  pleasant  and  amiable  landlord. 

"  These  mornings,  with  their  work,  should  earn  for  me 
My  afternoon's  content  and  liberty. 
I'd  have  an  early  dinner,  and  a  plain, 
Not  tempting  much  '  to  cut  and  come  again ;' 
A  little  wine,  or  not,  as  health  allow'd. 
But  for  my  friends,  a  stock  to  make  me  proud ; 
Bottles  of  something  delicate  -and  rare. 
Which  I  should  draw,  and  hold  up  with  an  air, 
And  set  them  on  the  table,  and  say,  '  There !' " 

We  were  here  most  anxions  to  know  the  dimensions  of  Mr.  Hunt's 
dining-room,  and  the  prevailing  color  of  its  furniture.  But  we  are 
only  told, 

"  My  dining-room  should  have  some  shelves  of  books, 
If  only  for  their  grace  and  social  looks — 
Horace  and  Plutarch,  Plato,  and  some  more, 
Who  knew  how  to  refine  the  tables'  roar. 
And  sprinkled  sweet  philosophy  between. 
As  meats  are  reconciled  with  slips  of  green. 
I  read  infallibly,  if  left  alone  ; 
But  after  meat,  an  author  may  step  down 
To  settle  a  dispute  or  talk  himself: — 
I  seem  to  twitch  him  now  with  finger  from  his  shelf." 

Hitherto  our  opinions  on  all  the  principal  questions  in  taste,  man- 
ners, morals,  and  religion,  have  been  in  unison ;  but  now  Mr.  Hunt  and 
we  cease  to  row  in  the  same  boat — for  if  we  did,  we  should  be  pulling 
away,  when  he  was  backing  water.  What  will  Odoherty  say  to  his 
Vice,  when  he  reads, 

"  I  would  not  sit  in  the  same  room  to  dine 
And  pass  the  evening ;  much  less  booze  till  nine, 


356  NOCTES   AMBROSIAN^.  [Aug. 

And  then  with  a  white  waistcoat  and  red  face, 
Kise,  with  some  stupid,  mumbling,  common-place. 
And  'join  the  ladies,'  bowing,  for  some  tea. 
With  nauseous  looks,  half  lust,  half  irony." 

The  last  line  in  this  quotation  speaks  of  something  beyond  our  expe- 
rience or  observation — but  may,  nevertheless,  sho\^  Mr.  Hunt's  famil- 
iar knowledge  of  the  human  heart.  To  prevent  the  possibility  of  such 
enormities,  he  suggests  a  very  notable  expedient. 

"  I'd  have  two  rooms,  in  one  of  which,  as  weather 
Or  fancy  chose,  we  all  might  come  together, 
With  liberty  for  each  one  nevertheless 
To  wander  in  and  out,  and  taste  the  lawns  and  trees. 
One  of  the  rooms  should  face  a  spot  of  spots, 
Such  as  would  please  a  squirrel  with  his  nuts ; 
I  mean  a  slope,  looking  upon  a  slope, 
Wood-crown'd,  and  dell'd  with  turf,  a  sylvan  cup. 
Here,  when  our  moods  were  quietest,  we'd  praise 
The  scenic  shades,  and  watch  the  doves  and  jays." 

Besides  the  ordinary  and  necessary  out-houses,  such  as  hen-house, 
pig-sty,  dog -kennel,  "  and  the  rest,"  Mr.  Hunt  proposes  to  build  a 
"  chapel."  This  made  us  wink  again ;  for  nothing  makes  him  so  ir- 
ritable as  to  be  suspected  of  Christianity.  But  list — oh  !  list — if  ever 
you  did  the  dear  Cockney  love — 

"  Greek  beauty  should  be  there,  and  Gothic  shade  ; 
And  brave  as  anger,  gentle  as  a  maid, 

The  name  on  whose  dear  heart  my  hope's  worn  cheek  was  laid. 
Here,  with  a  more  immediate  consciousness, 
Would  we  feel  all  that  blesses  us,  and  bless ; 
And  lean  on  one  another's  heart,  and  make 
Sweet  resolutions,  ever,  for  love's  sake ; 
And  recognise  the  eternal  Good  and  Fair, 
Atoms  of  whose  vast  active  spirit  we  are. 
And  try  by  what  great  yearnings  we  could  force 
The  globe  on  which  we  live  to  take  a  more  harmonious  course." 

But,  gentle  reader,  out  with  your  pocket-handkerchief — and  if  you 
have  any  tears,  prepare  to  shed  them  now.  For,  woe  is  me  !  and  alack ! 
alack-a-day !  poor  dear  Mr.  Hunt  has  taken  to  his  bed — is  going  to 
die — is  dead. 

"  And  when  I  died,  'twould  please  me  to  be  laid 
In  my  own  ground's  most  solitary  shade ; 
Not  for  the  gloom,  much  less  to  be  alone. 
But  solely  as  a  room  that  still  might  seem  my  own. 
There  should  my  friends  come  still,  as  to  a  place 
That  held  me  yet,  and  bring  me  a  kind  face : 
There  should  they  bring  me  still  their  griefs  and  joys. 
And  hear  in  the  swell'd  breeze  a  little  answering  noise. 
Had  I  renown  enough,  I'd  choose  to  lie. 
As  Hafiz  did,  bright  in  the  public  eye. 


1828.]  THE  TORIES.  S57 

With  marble  grace  inclosed,  and  a  green  shade, 
And  young  and  old  should  read  me,  and  be  glad." 

ISTo — no — no.  It  must  not — shall  not  be.  Buried  in  your  own 
grounds  !  No — no — no  !  It  is  too  far  from  town — and  the  Wuster- 
Heavy  would  be  perpetually  overloaded  with  pilgrims  seeking  the 
shrine  where  thou  wert  laid.  We  insist  on  your  submitting  to  a  pub- 
lic funeral,  and  in  Westminster  Abbey. 


Tickler.  After  all,  we  must  succumb,  Odoberty.  North  is  North. 
He  is  our  master  in  all  things,  and  above  all  in  good  humor. 

Odoherty.  An  admirable  lecture  indeed.  Put  round  the  bottles, 
and  I  shall  repay  Great  Christopher  with  a  chant. 

Omnes.  Do — do — do. 

Odoherty  (sings). 

THE   TORIES — A   NATIONAL   MELODY.* 
1. 

'Tis  with  joy  and  exultation  I  look  round  about  this  nation, 

And  contemplate  the  sum  of  her  glories ; 
You  must  share  in  my  delight,  for  whoever  is  is  right — 

Oh !  the  prime  ones  are  every  where  Tories. 
Start  whatever  game  ye  please,  you'll  be  satisfied  in  these 

The  just  pride  of  the  Island  reposes — 
Whigs  in  ambushes  may  chaff,  but  the  Tories  have  the  laugh 

When  it  comes  to  the  counting  of  noses. 

Dear  boys  I 

When  it  comes  to  the  counting  of  noses. 


Can  the  gentlemen  of  Brookes'  show  a  nose,  now,  like  the  Duke's, ' 

Who  squabashed  every  Marshal  of  Boney's ; 
And  at  last  laid  Boney's  self  on  yon  snug  outlandish  shelf. 

Just  with  three  or  four  rips  for  his  cronies  ? 
When  the  Hollands  and  the  Greys  see  the  garniture  of  bays 

Nodding  o'er  this  invincible  Tory, 
Can  they  give  the  thing  the  by-go,  by  directing  us  to  Vigo, 

And  parading  their  Corporal's  story  ? 

Poor  Bob  If 

Their  negotiating  Corporal's  story ! 


'Tis  the  same  way  in  the  law : — ^in  the  Chancellor's  big  paw, 

What  are  all  these  Whig-praters  but  rushes  ? 
With  one  knitting  of  his  brows  every  whelp  of  them  he  cows. 

With  one  sneer  all  their  balaam  he  crushes. 

*  By  Dr.  Maginn.— M.  t  Sir  Robert  Wilson.— M. 


358  NOCTES  AMBKOSIAIT^.  [Aug. 

They  got  silkers  from  the  Queen',  but  in  ragged  bombazeen 

They  must  all  be  contented  to  jaw,  now. 
Hence,  the  virulence  that  wags  twenty  clappers  at  "  Old  Bags," 

And  behind  his  back  calls  him  "  Bashaw"  now — 

Poor  dears ! 

They  behind  his  back  call  him  "  Bashaw"  now ! 

4. 

Stout  Sir  Walter  in  Belles  Lettres  has,  I'm  bold  to  say,  no  betters ; 

Even  the  base  Buff-and-Blue  don't  deny  this — 
"Why  ? — Because  their  master,  Constable,  would  be  packing  off  for  Dun- 
stable, 

The  first  pup  of  the  pack  that  durst  try  this. 
"  You  shan't  breakfast,  dine,  nor  sup  "  ties  their  ugly  muzzles  up 

From  the  venture  of  such  a  vagary ; 
But  a  sulky  undergrowl  marks  the  malice  of  the  foul, 

And  we  see  and  enjoy  their  quandary. 

Poor  curs  I 

We  all  see  and  enjoy  their  quandary.- 


Thus,  in  Letters,  Law,  and  Arms,  we  exhibit  peerlees  charms ; 

We  in  Parliament  equally  triumph — 
When  to  Canning  we  but  point.  Brougham's  nose  jumpeth  out  of  joint, 

And  Sir  Jammy  Macgerald*  must  cry  "  humph  1" 
Then  we've  Peel,  too,  and  we've  Croker,  who  upraised  the  "  holy  poker  " 

O'er  thy  crockery,  lately,  Joe  Hume! 
'JN"eath  our  eloquence  and  wit.  Duck-in-thunder-like  they  sit, 

And  await  the  completion  of  doom — 

Poor  things ! 

They  await  the  completion  of  doom. 


We've  the  President  to  paint-^we've  the  Wilberforce  for  Saint — 
,  And  our  sculptors  are  Flaxman  and  Chantrey ! 
On  the  stage  we've  Young  and  Terry — ay,  and  Liston  the  arch-merry. 

And  great  Kitchener  chants  in  our  pantry! — 
'Mong  the  heroes  of  the  ring,  we've  a  Jackson  and  a  Spring — 

We've  a  Bull  to  gore  all  the  Whig  news-folk — 
Among  preachers  we've  a  Phillpotts — an  O'Doherty  'mong  swill-pots — 

And  Saul  Rothschild  to  tower  o'er  the  Jews-folk, 

Dear  boys ! 

Baron  Rothschild  to  tower  o'er  the  Jews-folk. 

1. 

What  Review  can  Whig-sty  furnish,  but  is  sure  to  lose  its  burnish 

When  our  Quarterly's  splendors  we  hang  up  ? 
Or  what  Magazine's  to  mention,  of  the  slenderest  pretension, 

Beside  Christopher's  princely  prime  bang-up? 
There's  but  ONE  besides  in  Britain,  I  consider  'twould  be  fitting 

To  name  after  and  over  that  rare  man, 

*  Sir  James  Mackintosh. — M. 


1823.]  THE   TOEEES.  359 

'Tfs  the  Tory  oq.  tlie  throne — for  his  heart  is  all  our  own, 
And  'tis  this  xeeps  their  elbows  so  bare,  man, 

Poor  souls ! 
Their  hearts  low,  and  their  breeches  so  bare,  man ! 


Oh !  with  joy  and  exultation  we  look  round  about  the  nation, 

And  contemplate  the  sum  of  her  glories. 
Oh!  how  just  is  our  delight!     Oh!  whoever  is  is  right, 

Oh !  the  prime  ones  are  every  where  Tories  ! 
Look  whatever  way  you  please,  'tis  in  these,  and  only  these, 

All  the  pride  of  the  Island  reposes-^ 
We've  the  corn  and  they've  the  chaff, — they've  the  scorn  and  we've  the 
laugh, — 

They've  the  nettles  and  ours  are  the  roses. 

Dear  boys  1 

They've  the  nettles  and  we  have  the  roses. 


360 


No.  XIL— OCTOBER,  1823. 

SCENE  I,— The  Chaldee  Closet. 

Enter  North  and  Mr.  Ambrose. 

Mr.  Ambrose,  I  hope,  my  dear  sir,  you  will  not  be  offended ;  but  I 
cannot  conceal  my  delight  in  seeing  you  lighten  my  door  again,  after 
two  months'  absence.  God  bless  you,  sir,  it  does  my  heart  good  to 
see  you  so  strong,  so  fresh,  so  ruddy.  I  feared  this  wet  autumn  might 
have  been  too  much  for  you  in  the  country.  But  Heaven  be  praised 
— Heaven  be  praised — here  you  are  again,  my  gracious  sir !  What 
can  I  do  for  you  ? — What  will  you  eat  ? — What  will  you  drink  ? — Oh 
dear !  let  me  stir  the  fire ;  the  poker  is  too  heavy  for  you. 

North.  Too  heavy ! — Devil  a  bit.  Why,  Ambrose,  I  have  been  in 
training,  out  at  Mr.  Hogg's,  you  know.  Zounds,  I  could  fell  a  buffalo. 
Well,  Ambrose,  how  goes  the  world  ? 

Mr.  Ambrose.  No  reason  to  complain,  sir.  Oysters  never  were 
better ;  and  the  tap  runs  clear  as  amber.  Let  me  hang  up  your  crutch, 
my  dear  sir.  There  now,  I  am  happy.  The  house  looks  like  itself 
now.  Goodness  me,  the  padding  has  had  a  new  cover!  But  the 
wood-work  has  seen  service. 

North.  That  it  has,  Ambrose.  Why,  you  rogue,  I  got  a  three- 
pronged  fork  fastened  to  the  end  on't,  and  I  used  it  as  a  lister. 

Mr.  Ambrose.  A  lister,  sir  ? — I  ask  your  pardon. 

North.  Ay,  a  lister.  I  smacked  it  more  than  once  into  the  side  of 
a  salmon ;  but  the  water  has  been  so  drumly,  that  Sandy  Ballantyne 
himself  could  do  little  or  nothing. 

Mr.  Ambrose.  Nothing  surprises  me  now,  sir,  that  you  do.  We 
have  a  pretty  pheasant  in  the  larder.  Shall  I  venture  to  roast  him  for 
your  honor  ? 

North.  At  nine  o'clock  I  expect  a  few  friends ;  so  add  a  stub- 
ble-goose, some  kidneys,  and  hodge-podge;  for  the  night  is  chilly; 
and  a  delicate  stomach  like  mine,  Ambrose,  requires  coaxing.  Glen- 
livet. 

Mr.  Ambrose.  Here,  sir,  is  your  accustomed  caulker. 

(North  drinks,  while  Mr.  Ambrose  keeps  looking  upon  him 
with  a  smile  of  delighted  deference,  and  exit.) 

North  (solus).  What   paper  have  we  here  ? — Morning  Chronicle 


Oct.  1823.]  THE  MORNmG   CHKOmCLE  361 

Copyright  sold  for  £40,000,  A  lie.* — Let  me  see;  any  little  traitor- 
ous copy  of  bad  verses  ?  Not  one.  Tommy  Moore  and  Jack  Bowring 
are  busy  otherwise.  Poor  occupation  for  gentlemen,  sneering  at 
Church  and  King.  "  That  wretched  creature,  Ballasteros  1"  Nay,  nay; 
this  won't  do ;  I  am  getting  drowsy. — (Sno7~es.) 

Enter  Mr.  Ambrose.     A  sound  of  feet  in  the  lohhy.  , 

Mr.  Ambrose.  Mr.  Tickler,  sir — Mr.  MuUion — and  a  strange  gen- 
tleman. Beg  your  pardon,  gentlemen ;  tread  softly.  He  sleeps. 
Bonus  dormitat  Homerus. 

Strange  Gentleman.  Wonderful  city.  Modern  Athens  indeed.  Ne- 
ver heard  a  more  apt  quotation. 

Tickler  {slajJ-bang  on  North's  shoulde?-).  Awake,  arise,  or  be  for 
ever  fallen  !  Mullion,  shake  -him  by  the  collar;  or  'a  slight  kick  on 
the  shins.     Awake,  Samson  ;  the  Philistines  are  upon  thee  ! 

(North  yawns;  stretches  himself;  sits  erect;  stares  about 
him  ;  rises  and  bows.} 

Mullion.  Capital  subject,  faith,  for  Wilkie.  A  choice  bit.  Odds 
safe  us,  what  a  head  !  Gie's  your  haun,  my  man.  Hooly,  hooly ;  your 
uieve's  like  a  vice.    You  deevil,  you  hae  jirted  the  bluid  frae  my  finger- 


North.  Mr.  Tickler,  you  have  not  introduced  me  to  the  young  gen- 
tleman. 

Tickler.  Mr.  Vivian  Joyeuse.f 

North.  Young  gentleman — happy  to  take  you  by  the  hand.  I  hope 
37^ou  have  no  objections  to  smoking, 

Joyeuse.  I  have  no  objections  to  any  thing;  but  I  shall  hardly  be 
on  an  equal  footing  with  you  Sons  of  the  Mist. 

North    (to  Tickler).    Gentlemanly    lad. — [Re-enter   Ambrose.) — 

*  Mr.  James  Perry,  "  a  canny  Scotchman,"  had  made  the  IForning  Chronicle  one  of  the 
daily  journals  of  London.  It  was  the  recognised  organ  of  the  Whig  or  Opposition  party.  He 
was  on  intimate  terms  with  the  leaders  of  that  party,  and  had  shown,  more  than  once,  that  he 
was  to  be  trusted.  In  his  paper  appeared  the  earliest,  and  some  of  the  best,  of  Moore's  polit- 
ical squibs.  There,  also,  did  Byron  sometimes  appear.  The  editorial  part  was  ably  performed, 
and  the  dramatic  critic  was  no  less  a  person  than  William  Hazlitt.  Perry  was  the  founder  of 
the  European  Magazine  in  1782.  He  died  in  1821,  and  the  Chronicle  was  then  sold  to  Mr. 
Clements,  proprietor  of  the  Observer  and  BeWs  Life,  which  continue  to  have  large  circula- 
tion. Clements  paid  £40,000  for  the  copyright,  presses  a.nd  types.  The  paper  gradually  de- 
clined in  his  hands,  until  after  having  had  it  about  thirteen  years,  he  sold  it  to  Sir  John  East- 
hope,  a  stock-broker,  about  the  period  (Nov.  1834)  when  The  Times,  suddenly  turned  round, 
on  Peel's  accession  to  office,  and  became  Conservative  instead  of  Radical.  The  Chronicle,  for 
a  time,  seemed  likely  to  resume  its  position  as  a  Liberal  organ,  but  its  proprietor  was  believed 
to  have  used  part  of  its  machinery  (foreign  correspondents)  for  stock-jobbing  purposes,  and 
the  shadow  settled  on  it  again.  It  was  purchased  from  him  by  a  party  of  gentlemen  possessed 
of  much  wealth,  who  forthwith  gave  it  a  Puseyite  politico-religious  leaning.  This  it  retains,  but 
it  is  said  that  Baron  Rothschild,  of  London,  has  entered  into  the  proprietorship.  At  present, 
its  leading  articles  have  no  weight,  but  its  foreign  correspondence  is  generally  admirable. 
The  article  in  the  Edinhtvrgh  Remeto,  on  the  "  Morning  Chronicle,"  was  written  by  Hazlitt. — M. 

t  In  KnighVs  Quarterly  Magazine,  one  of  the  best  periodicals  ever  published  in  London, 
there  was  an  imitation  of  the  Noctes,  lively,  well  written,  and  with  the  character  of  each  speaker 
well  individualized.  Mr.  Vivian  Jiyeu.se  was  the  noni  de  plume  assumed  by  one  of  Knight's 
contributors.  Macaulay,  Praed,  John  Moultrie,  Chauncey  Hare  Townshend,  Charles  Knight, 
(Editor  and  publisher,)  were  au^ong  the  leading  writers  in  this  periodical. — M. 

VOL.  I.  16 


362  NOCTES   AlVIBKOSIAN^.  [Oct. 

Hollo  !  Ambrose  ?  What  now  ?  Have  you  seen  a  ghost  ?  or  has  the 
cat  run  off  with  the  pheasant  ?    If  so,  I  trust  he  has  insured  his  lives. 

Mr.  Ambrose.  Here  is  a  gentleman  in  the  lobby,  inquiring  for  Mr. 
Tickler. 

Tickler.  Show  him  in.     Hope  it  is  not  that  cursed  consignment  of 

cotton  from  Manchester — raw-twist,  and The  English  Opium- 

Eater  ! — huzza  !  huzza  !  {Three  hearty  cheers.) 

Enter  The  English  Opium-Eater*  and  The  Ettrick  Shepherd. 

The  Shepherd.  Thank  ye,  lads ;  that's  me  you're  cheering.  Hand 
your  hauns,  ye  hallan-shakers,  or  my  drums  will  split.  Sit  down,  sit 
down;  my  kite's  as  toom  as  the  Cornal's  head.  I've  had  nae  four- 
hours,  and  only  a  chack  wi'  Tam  Grieve,  as  I  came  through  Peebles. 
You'll  hae  ordered  supper,  Mr.  North  ? 

North.  My  dear  late  English  Opium-Eater,  this  is  an  unexpected, 
unhoped  for  happiness.     I  thought  you  had  been  in  Constantinople. 

The  Opium-Eater.  You  had  no  reason  whatever  for  any  such 
thought.  No  doubt  I  might  have  been  at  Constantinople — and  I  wish 
that  I  had  been — but  I  have  not  been ;  and  I  am  of  opinion  that  you 
have  not  been  there  since  we  last  parted,  any  more  than  myself. 
Have  you,  sir  ? 

The  Shepherd.  I  dinna  ken,  sir,  where  you  hae  been ;  but,  hech, 
sirs,  yon  bit  Opium  Tract's  a  desperate  interesting  confession.  It's 
perfectly  dreadfu',  yon  pouring  in  upon  you  o'  oriental  imagery.  But 
nae  wunner.  Sax  thousand  draps  o'  lowdnam !  It's  as  muckle,  I 
fancy,  as  a  bottle  o'  whusky.  I  tried  that  experiment  mysel,  after 
reading  the  wee  wud  wicked  wark,  wi'  five  hunner  draps,  and  I  couped 
ower,  and  continued  in  ae  snore  frae  Monday  night  till  Friday  morn- 
ing. But  I  had  naething  to  confess ;  naething  at  least  that  wad  gang 
into  words ;  for  it  was  a  week-lang,  dull,  dim  dwawm  o'  the  mind, 
with  a  kind  o'  soun'  bumming  in  my  lugs ;  and  clouds,  clouds,  clouds 
hovering  round  and  round  ;  and  things  o'  sight,  no  made  for  the  sight; 
and  an  awfu'  smell,  like  the  rotten  sea ;  and  a  confusion  between  the 
right  hand  and  the  left ;  and  events  o'  auld  lang  syne,  like  the  tor- 
ments o'  the  present  hour,  wi'  naething  to  mark  ony  thing  by ;  and 
doubts  o'  being  quick  or  dead ;  and  something  rouch,  rouch,  like  the 
fleece  o'  a  ram,  and  motion  as  of  everlasting  earthquake ;  and  nae  re- 

*  Thomas  de  Quincey,  whose  "  Confessions  of  an  English  Opium  Eater,"  in  the  London  Maq- 
astne,  immediately  obtained  him  high  repute  as  a  writer,  has  done  nothing  half  as  good, 
during  his  four  and  thirty  years  of  authorship,  as  that,  his  first  production,  Well  learned  in 
ancient  and  modern  tongues,  he  has  written  a  vast  quantity,  but  when  his  transcendental  and 
unmtelligible  metaphysics  are  weeded  out,  the  actual  substance  of  his  works  Avill  be  in  a  small 
space.  With  the  German  school  of  philosophy  he  is  well  acquainted,  and  has  endeavored, 
chiefly  by  translation,  to  make  his  countrymen  familiar  with  it.  He  lias  written  a  great  deal 
— chiefly  for  magazines.  Sometimes  he  is  extremely  graphic  and  picturesque,  but  his  great 
fault  is  diffuseness,  want  of  concentration,  and  an  inability  to  discuss  a  subject  without  di- 
gressions—a/»TO/>os  to  nothing.  His  writings  have  been  published  in  America  in  a  collected 
form;  this  Jias  not  been  done  in  England,  where  only  a  selection  could  obtain  a  sale.— M. 


1823.]  WOEDSWORTH. 


363 


membrance  o'  my  ain  Christian  name ;  and  a  dismal  thought  that  I 
was  converted  into  a  quadruped  cretur,  wi'  four  feet ;  and  a  sair  drowth 
aye  sook,  sooking  awa'  at  empty  win';  and  the  lift  doukin  down  to 
smoor  me ;  and  the  moon  within  half  a  yard  o'  my  nose ;  but  no 
just  Hke  the  moon  either.  O  Lord  safe  us !  I'm  a'  grewing  to  think 
o't ;  but  how  could  I  confess  ?  for  the  sounds  and  the  sights  were 
baith  shadows ;  and  whare  are  the  words  for  expressing  the  dis- 
tractions o'  the  immaterial  soul  drowning  in  matter,  and  wastling  wi' 
unknown  power  to  get  ance  mair  a  steady  footing  on  the  greensward 
o'  the  waking  world  ? 

Mullion.  Hear  till  him — hear  till  him.  Ma  faith,  that's  equal  to 
the  best  bit  in  a'  the  Confessions. 

The  Shepherd.  Hand  your  tongue,  you  sumph ;  it's  nae  sic  things. 
Mr.  Opium-Eater,  I  used  aye  to  admire  you,  years  sin  syne  ;  and  never 
doubted  you  wad  come  out  wi'  some  wark,  ae  day  or  ither,  that  wad 
gar  the  Gawpus  glower. 

The  Opium-Eater,  Gar  the  Gapus  glower ! — Pray,  who  is  the 
Gapus  ? 

The  Shepherd.  The  public,  sir;  the  public  is  the  Gawpus.  But 
what  for  are  you  sae  metapheesical,  man  ?  There's  just  nae  sense 
ava  in  metapheesics ;  they're  a'  clean  nonsense.  But  how's  Wuds- 
worth? 

The  Opium-Eater.  I  have  not  seen  him  since  half-past  two  o'clock 
on  the  lYth  of  September.  As  far  as  I  could  judge  from  a  transi- 
tory interview,  he  was  in  good  health  and  spirits  ;  and  I,  think,  fatter 
than  he  has  been  for  some  years.     "  Though  that's  not  much." 

The  Shepherd.  You  lakers  are  clever  chiels  ;  I'll  never  deny  that ; 
but  you  are  a  conceited,  upsetting  set,  ane  and  a'  o'  you.  Great  ye- 
gotists  ;  and  Wudsworth  the  warst  o'  ye  a' ;  for  he'll  alloo  nae  merit 
to  ony  leevin  cretur  but  himsel.  He's  a  triflin  cretur  in  yon  Excursion  ; 
there's  some  bonny  spats  here  and  there  ;  but  nae  reader  can  thole 
aboon  a  dozen  pages  o't  at  a  screed,  without  whumbling  ower  on  his 
seat.  Wudsworth  will  never  be  popular.  Naebody  can  get  his  blank 
poems  afF  by  heart ;  they're  ower  wordy  and  ower  windy,  tak  my 
word  for't.  Shackspear  will  say  as  muckle  in  four  lines,  as  Wuds- 
worth will  say  in  forty. 

The  Opium-Eater.  It  is  a  pity  that  our  great  living  poets  cannot 
be  more  lavish  of  their  praise  to  each  other.* 

The  Shepherd.  Me  no  lavish  o'  praise  ?  I  think  your  friend  a  great 
man — but 

North.    I  wish,  my  dear  Shepherd,   that  you  would  follow  Mr. 

*De  Quincey  has  written  a  great  deal  about  Wordsworth,  apparently  as  his  friend  and  ad- 
mirer, but  it  may  be  noticed  that  a  certain  deprecatory  tone  runs  through  his  description  of 
the  man  and  estimate  of  the  poet.  Wordswortli  and  his  friends,  I  know,  were  ill-pleased 
with  this,  which — from  early  and  extended  kindnesses  to  De  Quincey — Wordsworth  had  no 
reason  to  expect. — M. 


364  NOCTES   A^IBKOSIANJ).  [Oct. 

Wordsworth's  example,  and  confine  yourself  to  poetry.  Oh !  for  an- 
other Queen's  Wake. 

The  Shepherd.  I'll  no  confine  myself  to  poetry  for  ony  man. 
Neither  does  he.  It's  only  the  other  day  that  he  published  "  A  Guide 
to  the  Lakes,"  and  he  might  as  well  have  called  it  a  Treatise  on  Church 
Music.  And  then  his  prose  work  about  Spain*  is  no  half  as  gude  as  a 
leading  paragraph  in  Jamie  Ballantyne's  Journal.  The  sense  is  waur, 
and  sae  is  the  wording — and  yet  sae  proud  and  sae  pompous,  as  gin 
nane  kent  about  peace  and  war  but  himsel,  as  gin  he  could  fecht  a 
campaign  better  than  Wellington,  and  negotiate  wi'  foreign  courts 
like  anither  Canning.  Southey  writes  prose  better  than  Wudsworth, 
a  thousand  and  a  thousand  times.  Wha's  that  glowering  at  me  in 
the  corner  ?     Wha  are  ye,  my  lad  ? 

Mr.  Vivian  Joyeuse.  I  am  something  of  a  nondescript. 

The  Shepherd.  An  Englisher — an  Englisher— r-I've  a  gleg  lug  for 
the  deealicks.  You're  frae  the  South — but  nae  Cockney.  You're 
ower  weel-spoken  and  ower  weel-faured.     Are  ye  married  ? 

3fr.  Joyeuse.  I  fear  that  I  am.     I  am  fresh  from  Gretna. 

The  Shepherd.  Never  mind — never  miiid — you're  a  likely  laddie — 
and  hae  a  blink  in  thae  eyne  o'  yours  that  shows  smeddum.  What 
are  all  the  people  in  England  doing  just  the  now  ? 

Mr.  Joyeuse.  All  reading  No.  II.  of  Knight's  Quarterly  Magazine. 

North.  A  very  pleasant  miscellany.  Tickler,  you  have  seen  the 
work.  Mr.  Joyeuse,  your  very  good  health,  and  success  to  Knight's 
Quarterly  Magazine.f     [General  breeze) 

The  Shepherd.  Did  ony  body  ever  see  siccan  a  blush  ?  Before  you 
hae  been  a  contributor  for  a  year,  you'll  hae  lost  a'  power  of  redden- 
ing in  the  face.  You  may  as  weel  try  then  to  blush  wi'  the  palm  o' 
your  hand. 

Tickler.  Mullion,  who  knows  every  thing  and  every  body,  brought 
Mr.  Joyeuse  to  Southside,  and  I  have  only  to  hope  that  his  fair  bride 
will  not  read  him  a  curtain-lecture  to-night,  Avhen  she  hears  where  he 
has  been,  among  the  madcaps. 

The  Shepherd.  Curtain-lecture  !  We  are  a'  ower  gude  contributors 
to  be  fashed  wi'  any  daft  nonsense  o'  that  sort.  Na — na — but  what's 
this  Quarterly  Magazine  ? — I  never  heard  tell  o't. 

North.  W^hy,  I  will  speak  for  Mr.  Joyeuse.  It  is  a  gentlemanly 
miscellany— got  together  by  a  clan  of  young  scholars,  who  look  upon 
the  world  with  a  cheerful  eye,  and  all  its  ongoings  with  a  spirit  of 
hopeful  kindness.     I  cannot  but  envy  them  their  gay  juvenile  temper, 

*  In  1809,  with  an  intention  of  urging  that  the  Peninsular  War  be  vigorously  carried  on, 
(with  a  view  to  checking  the  vast  puissance  of  Napoleon,)  Wordsworth  published  a  prose  pam- 
phlet on  the  relations  of  Great  Britain,  Spain,  and  Portugal  to  each  other.— M. 

t  KnighVs  Quarterly  Magazine  died  after  completing  three  volumes.  It  is  very  diflScult  to 
be  obtained  now,  at  any  price,  in  England,  and  is  curious  as  containing,  among  other  things, 
as  much  of  Macaulay's  early  poetry  and  prose  as  would  fill  a  volume. — M. 


1823.]  knight's  quarterly.  365 

so  free  from  gall  and  spite ;  and  am  pleased  to  the  heart's  core  with 
their  elegant  accomplishments.  Their  egotism  is  the  joyous  freedom 
of  exulting  Hfe ;  and  they  see  all  things  in  a  glow  of  enthusiasm  which 
makes  ordinary  objects  beautiful,  and  beauty  still  more  beauteous, 
Do  you  wish  for  my  advice,  my  young  friend  ? 

Mr.  Joyeuse.  Upon  honor,  Sir  Christopher,  I  am  quite  overpowered. 
Forgive  me,  when  I  confess  that  I  had  my  misgivings  on  entering 
your  presence.  But  they  are  all  vanished.  Believe  me  that  I  value 
most  highly  the  expression  of  your  good^will  and  friendly  sentiments 
towards  myself  and  coadjutors. 

North.  Love  freedom — continue,  I  ought  to  say,  to  love  it ;  and 
prove  your  love,  by  defending  all  the  old  sacred  institutions  of  this 
great  land.  Keep  aloof  from  all  association  with  base  ignorance,  and 
presumption,  and  imposture.  Let  all  your  sentiments  be  kind,  gener- 
ous and  manly,  and  your  opinions  will  be  safe,  for  the  heart  and  the 
head  are  the  only  members  of  the  Holy  Alliance,  and  woe  unto  all  men 
when  they  are  not  in  union.  Give  us  some  more  of  your  classical 
learning — more  of  the  sparkling  treasures  of  your  scholarship,  for  in 
that  all  our  best  miscellanies  are  somewhat  deficient,  (mine  own  not 
excepted,)  and  you  may  here  lead  the  way.  Are  you  not  Etonians,. 
Wykeamists,  Oxonians,  and  Cantabs,  and  in  the  finished  grace  of 
manhood  ?     Don^t  forget  your  classics. 

The  Shepherd.  Dinna  mind  a  single  word  that  Mr.  North  says 
about  classics,  Mr.  Joyous.  Gin  ye  introduce  Latin  and  Greek  into 
your  Magazine,  you'll  clean  spoil't.  There's  naething  like  a  general 
interest  taken  in  the  classics  throughout  the  kintra;  and  I  whiles 
jalouse  that  some  praise  Homer  and  Horace,  and  Polydore  Virgil,  and 
"the  rest,"  that  ken  but  little  about  them,  and  couldna  read  the 
crabbed  Greek  letters  aff"-hand  without  stuttering. 

The  Opium- Eater.  All  the  magazines  of  the  day  are  deficient ; 
first,  in  classical  literature,  secondly,  in  political  economy,  and  thirdly, 
in  psychology. 

The  Shepherd.  Tuts,  tuts. 

Tickler.  Mr.  Joyeuse,  I  agree  with  North  in  strenuously  recom- 
mending you  and  your  friends  to  give  us  classical  dissertations,  notes, 
notices,  conjectures,  imitations,  translations,  and  what  not.  Confound 
the  Cockneys !  they  will  be  prating  on  such  points — and  have  smug- 
gled their  cursed  pronunciation  into  Olympus.  There  is  County  Tims 
proceeding,  step  by  step,  from  Robert  Bruce  to  Jupiter  Tonans ;  and 
addressing  DianAR  as  familiarly  as  he  would  a  nymph-  of  Covent- 
Garden,  coming  to  redeem  two  silver  teaspoons.*  There  was  John 
Keats  enacting  ApollAR,  because  he  believed  that  personage  to  have 

*  The  Scotch  and  the  Irish  very  contemptuously  regard  the  Cockney  mispronunciation  of 
words  ending  with  a  vowel.  To  say  Juliar,  Appollar,  sofar,  Annar-Mariar,  and  lor,  for 
Julia,  Apollo,  sofa,  Anna-Maria,  law,  &c.,  is  true  Cockney; — but  they  have  not  an  idcar  of 
the  error  they  thus  fall  into.    On  the  American  stage,  where  so  many  English  performers  are  to 


S66  NOCTES   AMBROSIAJN"^.  ^  [Oct. 

been,  like  himself,  an  apothecary,  and  sickening,  because  the  public 
was  impatient  of  his  drugs.  There  is  Barry,  quite  beside  himself  with 
the  spectacle  of  Deucalion  and  Psyche  peopling  the  earth  anew  by 
chucking  stones  over  their  shoulders — in  my  humble  Opinion,  I  con- 
fess, a  most  miserable  pastime ; — and  there  is  King  Leigh  absolutely 
enlisting  Mars  into  the  Hampstead  heavy  dragoons,  and  employing 
him  as  his  own  orderly. 

The  Shepherd.  Capital,  Mr.  Tickler,  capital.  I  aye  like  you  when 
you  are  wutty.  Gang  on — let  me  clap  you  on  the  back — slash  awa 
at  the  Cockneys,  for  they  are  a  squad  I  scunner  at ;  and  oh !  but  you 
hae  in  troth  put  them  down  wi'  a  vengeance ! 

Tickler.  Hazlitt  is  the  most  loathsome.  Hunt  the  most  ludicrous. 
Pygmalion  is  so  brutified  and  besotted  now,  that  he  walks  out  into 
the  public  street,  enters  a  bookseller's  shop,  mounts  a  stool,  and  repre- 
sents Priapus  in  Ludgate  Hill*  King  Leigh  would  not  do  this'  for 
the  world.  From  such  enormities  he  is  preserved,  partly  by  a  sort  of 
not  unamiable  fastidiousness,  but  chiefly  by  a  passionate  admiration  of 
his  yellow  breeches,  in  which  he  feels  himself  satisfied  with  his  own 
divine  perfections.  I  do  not  dislike  Leigh  Hunt  by  any  manner  of 
means.  By  the  way,  Mr.  Joyeuse,  there  are  some  good  stanzas  about 
him,  in  Knight — for  example : 

They'll  say — I  shan't  believe  'era — but  they'll  say, 
That  Leigh's  become  what  once  he  most  abhorr'd, 

Has  thrown  his  independence  all  away, 
And  dubb'd  himself  toad-eater  to  a  lord  ; 

And  though,  of  course,  you'll  hit  as  hard  as  they, 
I  fear  you'll  find  it  difficult  to  ward 

Their  poisoned  arrows  off — you'd  best  come  back, 

Before  the  Cockney  kingdom  goes  to  wrack.  * 

The  Examiner's  grown  dull  as  well  as  dirty, 

The  Indicator's  sick,  the  Liberal  dead — 
I  hear  its  readers  were  some  six-and-thirty ;  f 

But  really  'twas  too  stupid  to  be  read. 
'Tis  plain  your  present  partnership  has  hurt  ye  ; 

Poor  brother  John  "  looks  up,  and  is  not  fed," 
For  scarce  a  soul  will  purchase,  or  get  through  one, 
E'en  of  his  shilling  budgets  of  Don  Juan. 

North.  Do  you  quote  from  memory  ?  I  remember  a  good  stanza  in 
Don  Juan  about  John  Keats,  Hazlitt's  Apollo  and  Apothecary. 

be  seen  and  heard,  the  Cockneys  proper  may  at  once  be  detected  by  this  abuse  of  the  conso- 
nant r. — M. 

*  William  Hazlitt,  so  many  years  persecuted  by  Blcickioood,  was  a  quiet,  reserved  student, 
who  seldom  mingled  in  society,  was  rarely  personal  in  his  writings,  and  had  broken  down  his 
nervous  system  by  excessive  fondness  for  strong  tea. — M. 

t  Of  Leigh  Hunt's  repeated  efforts  to  establish  a  periodical,  which  it  would  pay  him  to  con- 
tinue, The  Indicator  was  the  best.  It  was  crowded  with  affectations,  (or  worse,  else  it  would 
not  have  been  Hunt's,)  but  there  was  a  freshness  running  through  it  which  was  real.  Hunt 
loved  books  anci  nature,  and  liked  to  write  on  both  subjects. — M. 


1823.]  MAGA.  3(37 

John  Keats,  who  was  killed  off  by  one  critique, 

Just  as  he  really  promised  something  great, 
If  not  intelligible — without  Greek, 

Contrived  to  talk  about  the  gods  of  late, 
Much  as  they  might  have  been  supposed  to  speak. 

Poor  fellow !  his  was  an  untoward  fate  ; 
'Tis  strange,  the  mind,  that  very  fiery  particle, 
Should  let  itself  be  snuff 'd  out  by  an  article. 

TicJder.  Exactly  so.  N"ow,  what  a  pretty  fellow  is  the  publisher  of 
Do  a  Juan !  John  Keats  was  the  especial  friend  of  himself  and 
brother ;  and  they  both  raved  like  bedlamites  against  all  who  were  at 
all  sharp  upon  the  poor  apothecary.  But  what  will  not  the  base  love 
of  filthy  lucre ! — Alas !  his  lordship  is  driven  to  degradation.  And 
who  but  this  crew  would  become  parties  to  a  libel  on  their  own  best- 
beloved  dead  friend  ? 

The  Shepherd.  There's  nae  answering  questions  like  these.  The 
puir  devil  must  be  dumb.  A  crabbed  discontented  creature  o'  a  nee- 
bor  o'  ours  takes  in  the  Examiner;  and  I  see  they  are  aye  yammering 
and  compleening  upon  you  lads  here,  but  canna  speak  out.  They  are 
a'  tongue-tied,  and  can  only  girn,  girn,  girn.*  Blackwood  here,  and 
Blackwood  there,  but  nothing  made  out  or  specified.  Bandy-legged 
Baldy  Dinmont  himself  allows  they  are  just  like  a  parcel  o'  weans 
frighted  at  their  dominie,  when  Christopher  appears,  and  lose  a'  power 
to  bar  the  maister  out,  when  they  see  the  taws  ance  mair,  and  begin 
dinglan  in  their  doups  in  the  very  fever  o'  an  imaginary  skelping. 

North.  It  is  all  very  true,  my  dear  Shepherd.  I  often  think  that 
our  weak  points  have  never  yet  been  attacked,  for  is  it  not  singular 
that  no  impressiofi  has  ever  yet  been  made  on  any  part  of  our  whole 
line?  Good  gracious!  only  think  on  our  shameful  violation  of  truth! 
Why,  that  of  itself,  if  properly  exposed,  and  held  out  to  universal 
detestation,  would  materially  diminish  our  sale  in  this  great  matter- 
of-fact  age  and  country.  Who,  like  us,  has  polluted  the  sources  of 
history  ? 

The  Shepherd.  Hush,  hush! — We  dinna  ken  Mr.  Joyous  weel 
aneuch  yet  to  lippen  to  him.  Perhaps  he'll  betray  the  sacred  con- 
fidence o'  private  friendship!     Isna  that  the  way  they  word  it? 

Mr.  Joyeuse.  I  shall  make  no  rash  promises.  My  reply  to  the 
Shepherd  shall  be  in  a  quotation.     Byron  loquitur. 

They  err'd,  as  aged  men  will  do ;  but  by 
And  by  we'll  talk  of  that ;  and  if  we  don't, 

'Twill  be  because  our  notion  is  not  high 
Of  politicians,  and  their  double  front, 

'  ^  *  Girn^io  grin.— M. 


B6S  NOCTES   AMBROSIAN^.  [Ocx 

Who  live  by  He&,  yet  dare  not  boldly  lie : — 

Now,  what  I  love  in  women  is,  they  won't. 
Or  can't  do  otherwise,  than  lie ;  but  do  it 
So  well,  the  very  truth  seems  falsehood  to  it. 

And,  after  all,  what  is  a  lie?     'Tis  but 

The  truth  in  masquerade ;  and  I  defy 
Historians,  heroes,  lawyers,  priests,  to  put 

A  fact  without  some  leaven  of  a  lie. 
The  very  shadow  of  true  truth  would  shut 

Up  annals,  revelations,  poesy, 
And  prophecy — except  it  should  be  dated 
Some  years  before  the  incidents  related. 

North.  Well,  well,  we  stand  excused  like  our  neiglibors,  the  rest 
of  the  human  race.  But  what  say  you  to  our  gross  inconsistency,  in 
raising  a  mortal  one  day  to  the  sides,  and  another  pulling  him  an  angel 
down?  In  one  article  you  are  so  saluted  in  the  nose  with  the  bagpipe 
of  our  praise,  "that  you  cannot  contain,  you  ninny,  for  affection;"  and 
at  p.  36  you  find  yourself  so  vilified,  vituperated,  tarred  and  feathered, 
that  you  are  afraid  even  to  run  for  it,  and  would  fain  hide  yourself  for 
a  month  in  a  dark  closet.     Who  can  defend  this? 

Tickler.  I  can.  The  fault  is  not  with  us,  but  it  lies  in  the  constitu- 
tion of  human  nature.  For,  to-day,  a  given  man  is  acute,  sensible, 
enlightened,  eloquent,  and  so  forth.  We  praise  and  pet  him  according- 
ly— smooth  him  down  the  back  along  with  the  hair — give  him  a  sop 
— tell  him  he  is  a  clever  dog,  and  call  him  Trusty,  or  Help,  or  Nep- 
tune, or  Jupiter.  The  very  next  day  we  see  the  same  given  man  in  a 
totally  ditferent  predicament,  that  is  to  say,  utterly  senseless,  worse 
than  senseless,  raving.  What  do  we  do  then?  We  either  eye  him 
askance,  and  not  wishing  to  be  bitten,  and  to  die  of  the  liydrophobia, 
make  the  best  of  our  way  home,  or  to  Ambrose's,  without  saying  a 
word;  or  we  take  a  sapling  and  drub  him  off;  or  if  the  worst  come 
to  the  worst,  we  shoot  him  dead  upon  the  spot.  Call  you  this  incon- 
sistency?   Not  it  indeed.     Shall  I  illustrate  our  conduct  by  examples? 

North.  There  is  no  occasion  for  that  at  present.  But  what  do  you 
say  to  our  Coarseness  ? 

The  Shepherd.  Ay,  ay,  Mr.  Tickler,  what  do  you  say  to  your  coorse- 
ness? 

Tickler .  In  the  meantime,  James,  read  that,  and  you  will  know  what 
I  say  about  yours.  (Gives  him  a  critique  on  the  Three  Perils.)  But 
as  to  the  occasional  coarsenesses  to  be  found  in  Maga,  I  am,  from  the 
very  bottom  (no  coarseness  in  that,  I  hope)  of  my  heart,  sorry  to  see 
them,  and  much  sorrier  to  think  that  I  should  myself  have  written  too 
many  of  them.  They  must  be  disgusting  occasionally  to  delicate 
minds ;  nay,  even  to  minds  not  delicate.  And  I  verily  believe,  that  to 
Englishmen  in  general,  this  is  our  very  greatest  fault.     With  sincere 


1823.]  THE   SYMPOSIUM.  369 

sorrow,  if  not  contrition,  do  I,  for  one,  confess  my  fault ;  and  should  I 
ever  write  any  more  for  tlie  Magazine,  I"  hope  to  keep  myself  within 
the  limits  of  decorum.  Intense  wit  will  season  intense  coarseness  ;  but 
then  I  am  at  times  very  coarse  indeed,  without  being  witty  at  all ;  and 
am  convinced,  that  some  passages  in  my  letters,  although  these  are  on 
the  whole  popular,  and  deservedly  so,,  have  been  read  by  not  a  few  whom 
I  would  be  most  unwilling  to  offend,  with  sentiments  of  the  deepest 
and  most  unalloyed  disgust. 

Mr.  Joyeuse.  Not  at  all,  Mr.  Tickler — not  at  all.  Believe  it  not,  my 
dear  sir.     Coarse  you  may  occasionally  be,  but  you  are  always  witty. 

The  Opium-Eater.  I  have  always  admired  Mr.  Tickler's  letters,  there 
is  such  a  boundless  overflow  of  rejoicing  fancies  ;  and  what  if  one  par- 
ticular expression,  or  sentence,  even  paragraph,  be  what  is  called  coarse, 
(of  coarseness  as  a  specific,  definite,  and  determinate  quality  of  thought, 
I  have  no  clear  idea,)  it  is  lost,  swallowed  up,  and  driven  along  in  the 
ever-flowing  tide ;  and  he  who  should  be  drowned  in  trying  to  pick  it 
up,  could  never,  in  my  opinion,  be  a  fit  subject  for  resuscitation,  but 
would  deserve  to  be  scouted  not  only  by  the  humane,  but  by  the.  Hu- 
mane Society.  If  I  were  permitted  to  say  freely  what  are  your  great- 
est faults,  I  should  say  that 

Enter  Mr.  Ambrose,  just  in  the  nick  of  time. 

Mr.  Ambrose.  Gentlemen,  supper's  on  the  table. 
North.  Mr.  Joyeuse,  lend  me  your  arm. 

(Exeunt^  followed  by  the  Opium-Eater^  Tickler,  the  Shep- 
herd, and  Mullion.) 


SCENE  II.— Blue  Parlor. 

Tickler.  Now  for  the  goose.  A  ten-pounder.  All  our  geese  are 
*wans.  There,  saw  ye  ever  a  bosom  sliced  more  dexterously  ? — Off"  go 
the  legs — smack  goes  the  back  into  shivers — so  much  for  the  doup. 
Reach  me  over  the  apple  sauce.  Mullion,  give  us  the  old  pun  upon 
the  sage.     Who  chooses  goose  ? 

Mullion.  I'll  trouble  you  for  the  breast  and  legs,  wi'  a  squash  o'  the 
apple  crowdy.     Ambrose,  bread  and  potatoes,  and  a  pot  of  porter. 

The  Opium-Eater.  Mr.  Ambrose,  be  so  good  as  to  bring  me  coffee. 

Shepherd.  Coffee !  !     What  the  deevil  are  you  gaun  to  do  wi' 

coflPee  at  this  time  o'  night,  man  ?  Wha  ever  soops  upon  coflfee  ? 
Come  here,  Mr.  Ambrose,  tak  him  ower  this  trencher  o'  het  kidneys,  I 
never  hae  touched  them. 

Tickler.  Is  your  pullet  tender,  Kit  ?  There  be  vulgar  souls  who  pre- 
fer barn-door  fowl  to  pheasants,  mutton  to  venison,  and  cider  to  cham- 
pagne.    So  there  be  who  prefer  corduroy  to  cassimere  breeches,  and 

16^ 


370  NOCTES   AMBROSIAN^.  [Oct. 

the  "  Blue  and  Yellow"  to  green-gowned  Maga.*  To  such  souls,  your 
smooth-shining  transparent  gr/ipe  is  not  so  sweet  as  your  small  red 
hairy  gooseberry.  The  brutes  cannot  dine  without  potatoes  to  their 
fish 

The  Shepherd.  What  say  ye,  Mr.  Tickler  ?  wadna  you  eat  potatoes 
to  sawmont  ?  I  thought  he  had  kent  better  than  to  place  gentility  on 
sic  like  gruns.  At  the  Duke's,  every  one  did  just  as  he  liked  best 
himself,  and  tell't  the  flunkies  to  take  their  plates  to  ilka  dish  that 
pleased  their  «'e,  without  ony  restraint.  But  ye  haena  been  muckle  in 
hee  life  these  last  fifty  years. 

Tickler.  My  dear  MuUion,  I  beseech  you  not  to  draw  your  knife 
through  your  mouth  in  that  most  dangerous  fashion  :  you'll  never  stop 
till  ye  cut  it  from  ear  to  ear.  For  the  sake  of  our  common  humanity, 
use  your  fork. 

The  Shepherd.  Never  mind  him,  Mullion — he's  speaking  havers.  I 
hae  used  my  knife  that  way  ever  since  I  was  fed  upon  flesh,  and  I  never 
cut  my  mouth  to  any  serious  extent,  above  a  score  times  in  my  life. 

(Mr.  Ambrose  sets  down  a  silver  coffee-pot^  and  a  plate  of 
muffins,  before  the  Opium.-Eater.) 

The  Opium-Eater.  I  believe,  Mr.  Hogg,  that  it  has  been  ascertained 
by  medical  men,  through  an  experience  of  some  thousand  years,  that 
no  eater  of  hot  and  heavy  suppers  ever  yet  saw  his  grand  climacteric. 
I  do  not  mention  this  as  any  argument  against  hot  and  heavy  suppers, 
except  to  those  persons  who  are  desirous  of  attaining  a  tolerable  old 
age.  You,  probably,  have  made  up  your  mind  to  die  before  that  pe- 
riod ;  in  which  case,  not  to  eat  hot  and  heavy  suppers,  if  you  like  them, 
would  truly  be  most  unreasonable,  and  not  to  be  expecte'd  from  a  man 
of  your  acknowledged  intelligence  and  understanding.  I  beg  now  to 
return  your  kidneys,  with  an  assurance  that  I  have  not  touched  them, 
and  they  still  seem  to  retain  a  considerable  portion  of  animal  heat. 

The  Shepherd.  I  dinna  ken  what's  the  matter  wi'  me  the  night,  but 
I'm  no  half  so  hungry  as  I  expeckit.  Thae  muffins  look  gaen  invit- 
ing ;  the  coffee  comes  gurgling  out  wi'  a  brown  sappy  sound.  I  won- 
der whare  Mr.  Ambrose  got  that  ream.f  A  spider  might  crawl  on't. 
I  wush,  sir,  you  would  gie  us  a  single  cup,  and  a  wheen  muffins.  {The 
Opium-Eater  henignantly  complies.) 

North.  Pray,  Tickler,  what  sort  of  an  eater  do  you  suppose  Barry 
Cornwall  ? 

Tickler.  The  merry-thought  of  a  chick — three  tea-spoonfuls  of 
peas,  the  eighth  part  of  a  French  roll,  a  sprig  of  cauliflower,  and  an 
almost  imperceptible  dew  of  parsley  and  butter,  would,  I  think,  dine 
the  author  of  "  The  Deluge."     By  the  way,  there  is  something  surely 

*  Maga,  as  published  in  Edinburgh,  is  clothed  in  a  covering  which,  if  not  exactly  entitling  it 
to  the  name  of  "  green-gowned  Maga,"  may  be  said  to  be  the  color  of  sage.—^l. 
t  Beam — cream,— M. 


182?!.]  ■  OPIUM.  371 

not  a  little  absurd  in  the  notion  of  a  person  undertaking  the  "  Plood," 
whom  the  slightest  shower  would  drive  under  a  balcony,  or  into  a 
hackney-coach.  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  carried  "  The  Deluge"  in 
his  pocket  to  Colburn,  under  an  umbrella. 

North.  My  dear  Tickler,  you  cannot  answer  the  very  simplest  ques- 
tion without  running  into  your  usual  personalities.  What  does  Byron 
dine  on,  think  ye  ? 

Tickler.  Byron  ! — Why,  bull-beef  and  pickled  salmon,  to  be  sure. 
What  else  would  he  dine  on  ?  I  never  suspected,  at  least  accused 
him,  of  cannibalism.  And  yet,  during  the  composition  of  Cain,  there 
is  no  saying  what  he  may  have  done. 

The  Shei^herd.  I'm  thinking,  sir,  when  Tarn  Muir  was  penning  his 
Loves  of  the  Angels,  that  he  fed  upon  calf-foot  jeelies,  stewed  prunes, 
the  dish  they  ca'  curry,  and  oysters.     These  last  are  desperate-  for  that. 

Tickler.  Did  you  ever  hear  it  said  that  Mr.  Rogers  never  eat  animal 
food,  nor  drank  spirits  \ 

North.  I  have  seen  him  do  both. 

Tickler.  Well,  you  astonish  me.  I  could  not  otherwise  have  be- 
lieved it. 

Mullion.  l^ever,  never,  never  in  all  my  born  days,  did  I  eat  such 
a  glorious  plateful  of  kidneys  as  that  which  Mr.  Opium-Eater  lately 
transmitted  to  me  through  the  hands  of  our  Ambrose.  I  feel  as  if  I 
could  bump  my  crown  against  the  ceiling.  I  hae  eaten  the  apple  o' 
the  tree  of  knowledge.  I  understand  things  I  never  had  the  least 
ettling  of  before.  Will  ony  o'  ye  enter  into  an  argument  ?  Choose 
your  subject,  and  I'm  your  man,  in  theology,  morality,  anatomy,  chem- 
istry, history,  poetry,  and  the  fine  arts.  My  very  language  is  Eng- 
lish, whether  I  will  or  no,  and  I  am  overpowered  with  a  power  of 
words. 

The  Opium-Eater  (aside  to  Tickler).  I  fear  that  Mr,  Mullion's 
excessive  animation  is  owing  to  a  slight  mistake  of  mine.  I  carelessly 
allowed  a  few  grains  of  opium  to  slide  out  of  my  box  into  the  plate  of 
kidneys  which  Mr.  Hogg  sent  for  my  delectation ;  and  ere  I  could  pick 
them  out,  Mr.  Ambrose  wafted  away  the  poisoned  dish  to  Mr.  Mullion, 
at  a  signal,  I  presume,  understood  between  the  parties. 

Mullion.  I  say,  Opium-Eater,  or  Opossum,  or  what  do  they  call 
you,  did  you  ever  see  a  unicorn  ?  What  signifies  an  Egyptian  ibis,  or 
crocodile  of  the  Nile?  I  have  a  unicorn  at  livery  just  now  in  Rose 
Street.  Tickler,  will  you  mount  ?  Noble  subject  for  John  Watson.* 
No  man  paints  a  unicorn  better. 

North.  John  Watson  paints  every  thing  well.  But  {aside  to  The 
Shepherd)  saw  ye  ever  such  extraordinary  eyes  in  a  man's  head  as  in 
Mullion's  ? 

*  Now  Sir  John  Watson  Gordon,  President  of  the  Scottish  Academy  of  the  Fine  Arts,  and 
one  of  the  best  portrait-painters  in  Great  Britain. — M. 


373  NOCTES   AMBEOSIAN.E.  [Oct. 

MuUion.  Francis  Maxiinus  Macnab's  Theory  of  the  Universe  is  the 
only  sensible  book  I  ever  read.  Mr.  Ambrose — Mr.  Ambrose— bring 
me  the  Scotsman. 

The  Shepherd  (to  North).  I  have  heard  there  was  something  wrang 
wi'  Mullion  at  school ;  and  it's  breaking  out  you  see  noo.  He's  gane 
clean  wud.     I  wus  he  mayna  bite. 

Tickler.  Sell  your  unicorn  to  Polito,  Mullion. 

Mullion.  Polito ! — ay,  a  glorious  collection  of  wild  beasts — a  perfect 
House  o'  Commons ;  where  each  tribe  of  the  beasts  has  its  represen- 
tative. Mild,  majestic,  towzy-headed,  big-pawed,  lean-hurdied  lion, 
saw  ye  ever  Mungo  Park  ?  Tiger,  tiger,  royal  tiger — jungle-jumping, 
son-o'-Sir-Hector-Munro-devouring  tiger  !     (Bises.) 

The  Shepherd.  Whare  are  you  gaun  ? — Wait  an  hour  or  twa,  and 
I'll  see  ye  hame. 

Mullion.  I  am  off  to  the  Pier  of  Leith.  What  so  beautiful  as  the 
sea  at  midnight !  A  glorious  constellation  art  thou,  O  Great  Bear  ! 
Hurra  !   Hurra  !  (Uxit,  ivithout  his  hat.) 

The  Opium-Eater.  I  must  give  this  case,  in  a  note,  to  a  new  edi- 
tion of  my  Confessions.  If  Mr.  Mullion  did  really  eat  all  the  kidneys, 
he  must  now  have  in  his  stomach  that  which  is  about  equal  to  five 
hundred  and  seventy  drops  of  laudanum. 

The  Shepherd.  Eat  a'  the  kidneys ! — That  he  did,  I'll  swear. 

The  Opium-Eater.  Most  probably,  Mr.  Mullion  will  fall  into  a  state 
of  utter  insensibility  in  a  couple  of  hours.  Convulsions  may  follow, 
and  then — death. 

The  Shepherd.  Deevil  the  fears.  Mullion  'ill  dee  nane.  I'll  wauger 
he'll  be  eating  twa  eggs  to  his  breakfast  the  morn,  and  a  shave  o'  the 
red  roun' ;  lurking  frae  him  a'  the  time  wi'  een  as  sharp  as  darnin' 
needles,  and  paunin'  in  his  cup  for  mair  sugar. 

Tickler.  Suppose  now  that  the  conversation  be  made  to  take  a  lite- 
rary or  philosophical  turn.  Mr.  North,  what  is  your  opinion  on  the 
influence  of  literature  on  human  life  ? 

North.  Why,  after  all,  a  love  or  knowledge  of  literature  forms  but 
a  small  and  unimportant  part  of  the  character  either  of  man  or  woman. 
Have  we  not  all  dear  friends  whom  we  admit- to  our  most  sacred  con- 
fidence, who  never  take  up  a  printed  book  (Maga  excepted)  from 
year's  end  to  year's  end  ?  How  few  married  women  remember,  or  at 
least  care  a  straw  about,  any  thing  they  read  in  their  maidenhood, 
when  in  search  of  husbands !  Take  any  lady,  young,  old,  or  middle- 
aged,  and  examine  the  dear  creature  with  a  few  cross-questions,  and 
you  will  not  fail  to  be  delighted  with  her  consummate  ignorance  of  all 
that  is  written  in  books.  But  what  of  that  ?  Do  you  hke,  love,  es- 
teem, despise,  or  hate  her,  the  more  or  less  ? — Not  a  whit.* 

*  "And  oh,  ye  lords  of  ladies  intellectual, 

Inform  us  truly,  have  they  not  hen-peck'd  you  all !"— M. 


182S.]  PTJEITY   OF   SCOTTISH    SONG.  373 

The  Opium-Eater .  The  female  mind  knows  intuitively  all  that  is 
really  worth  knowing  ;  and  the  performance  of  duty  with  women  is 
simply  an  outward  manifestation  of  an  inward  state  agreeable  to  na- 
ture ;  both  alike  unconsciously,  it  may  be,  existing  in  perfect  adapta- 
tion to  the  peculiar  circumstances  of  life.  Books  may,  or  may  not, 
cherish  and  direct  the  tendencies  of  a  female  character,  naturally  fine, 
delicate,  pure,  and  also  strong ;  but  most  certain  is  it  that  books  are 
not  the  sine-qua-non  condition  of  excellence.  The  woman  who  never 
saw  a  book  may  be  infinitely  superior,  even  in  all  those  matters  of 
which  books  treat,  to  the  woman  who  has  read,  and  read  intelhgently, 
10,000  volumes.  For  one  domestic  incident  shall  teach  more  wisdom 
than  the  catastrophes  of  a  hundred  novels ;  and  one  single  smile  from 
an  infant  at  its  mother's  breast  may  make  that  mother  wiser  in  love 
than  even  all  the  philosophy  of  Plato  and  the  poetry  of  Wordsworth. 

The  Shepherd.  There  now — I  just  ca'  that  sound  sense  and  a  true 
apo  Jiegm.  And  what'll  ye  say  to  poets  and  sic  like,  that  put  meretri- 
cious thoughts  into  the  nature  of  woman,  and  dazzle  the  puir  innocent 
things'  eyne  till  they  can  see  nae thing  like  the  path  of  duty,  but  gang 
ramstam  and  camstrairy,  aiblins  to  the  right  hand  and  aiblins  to  the 
left  ?  In  that  case,  one  might  call  his  brother  a  fool,  without  danger 
of  the  fire. 

TicMer.  Well  spoken,  my  dear  James.  I  beg  your  pardon,  once 
more,  for  having  ever  called  you  "  a  coorse  tyke."  You  have  a  soul, 
James  ;  and  that  is  enough. 

The  Shepherd.  We  have  all  so  wis,  Mr.  Tickler,  and  that  some  folks 
will  come  to  know  at  last.  But  I  am  nae  dour  Calvinistic  minister,  to 
deal  out  damnation  on  my  brethren.  All  I  say  is  this,  that  if  the  low- 
est shepherd  lad  in  a'  Scotland  were  to  compose  poems  just  on  pur- 
pose to  seduce  lasses,  he  would  be  kicked  like  a  foot-ba'  frae  ae  parish 
to  anither.  And  will  gentlemen  o'  education,  wha  can  read  Greek, 
and  hae  been  at  a  college-university,  do  that  and  be  cuddled  for't,  that 
would  bring  a  loon  like  Jock  Linton  to  the  stang,  tne  pond,  or  the 
pump? 

North.  You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  there  are  no  such  songs 
among  the  old  Scottish  poetry,  Shepherd  ? 

The  Shepherd.  No  half  a  dizzen  in  the  hail  byke — and  them  wrote, 
I  jalouse,  by  lazy  monks,  losels,  and  gaberlunzie-men.*  But  what  I  say 
is  true,  that  love-verses,  composed  wi'  a  wicked  spirit  o'  deceit  and 
corruption,  are  no  rife  in  ony  national  poetry ;  and,  least  o'  all,  in  that 
of  our  ain  Scotland.  Men  are  men — and,  blessings  on  them,  women 
are  women  ;  and  mony  a  droll  word  is  said,  and  droll  thing  done, 
among  kintra  folks.  But  they  a'  ettle  at  a  kind  o'  innocence ;  and 
when  they  fa',  it  is  the  frailty  of  nature  for  the  maist  part,  and  there  is 

*  Gaberltmzie—a,  mendicant ;  a  poor  guest  who  cannot  pay  for  his  entertainment. — M. 


874  NOCTES   AMBROSIANiE.  [Oct.' 

true  repentance  and  reformation.  But  funny  sangs  are  the  warst  d' 
poets'  sins  in  lowly  life ;  and  if  siccan  a  cliiel  as  Tam  Muir,  bonny 
bonny  writer  as  he  is,  were  to  settle  in  the  Forest,  he  might  hae  a 
gowden  fleece,  but  in  faith  he  would  soon  be  a  wether. 

The  Opium-Eater.  Amatory  poetry  is  not  only  the  least  intellectual, 
but  it  is  also  the  least  imaginative  and  the  least  passionate  of  poetry. 

The  Shepherd.  Hoots,  man — I  dinna  understand  you  sae  weel  now. 
What  say  ye  ? 

The  Opium-Eater.  In  mere  amatory  poetry — that  is,  verse  addressed 
to  ladies  in  a  spirit  of  complimentary  flirtation,  there  is  a  necessary 
prostration  or  relinquishment  of  the  intellect :  the  imaginative  faculty 
cannot  deal  with  worthless  trifles ;  and  passion,  which  cleaves  to  flesh 
and  blood,  dies  and  grows  drowsy  on  a  cold  thin  diet  of  words. 

The  Shepherd.  That's  better  expressed ;  at  least,  it  suits  better  the 
level  o'  my  understanding,  and  that's  the  criterion  we  a'  judge  by. 
Now,  sir,  this  I  wull  say  for  the  Lake  folk,  that  they,  ane  and  a',  with- 
out exceptions,  excel  in  painting  she-characters.  Wudsworth,  Wulson, 
Soothey,  Coalrich,  and  yourself,  sir,  (for  confound  me  gin  you're  no 
a  poet,)  make  me  far  mair  in  love  with  the  "Women-Folk — the 
Women-Folk,"  (wait  a  wee  and  you'll  hear  me  sing  that  sang,)  than 
Tam  Muir  and  a'  that  crew.  Wulson's  gotten  awfu'  proud,  they  say, 
since  he  was  made  a  Professor ;  but  let  him  lecture  as  eloquently's  he 
likes,  frae  Lammas  to  Lammas,  for  fifty  year — and  by  the  Isle  o'  Palms 
and  the  City  o'  the  Plague  wull  he  be  remembered  at  last.  They're 
baith  fu'  o'  havers ;  but  oh  !  man,  every  now  and  then,  he  is  shublime, 
and  for  pawthos  he  beats  a'.  Wudsworth  wunna  alloo  that ;  but  it's 
true,  and  I  hae  pleasure  in  saying  it. 

The  Opium-Eater.  If,  by  pathos,  you  mean  mere  human  feeling,  as 
it  exists  unmodified  by  the  imagination,  then  our  opinions  respecting 
the  two  poets  coincide.  But  in  "  the  thoughts  that  do  often  lie  too 
deep  for  tears,"  I  conceive  William  Wordsworth  unequalled  among 
the  sons  of  song.  Mark  me — I  do  not  say  that  the  other  poet  has  no 
imagination  ;  he  has  a  fine  and  powerful  imagination.     But 

2  he  Shepherd.  You  may  say  ony  thing  against  him  ye  like ;  but 
you  needna  ruze  Wudsworth  aboon  every  body,  leevin  or  dead.  Ae 
thing  he  does  excel  in — the  making  o'  deep  and  true  observations  and 
reflections,  that  come  in  unco  weel  among  dull  and  barren-  places,  and 
wad  serve  for  mottoes  or  themes.  Wuds worth's  likewise  a  capital  dis- 
courser  in  a  vivy-voce  twa-handed  crack,  awa'  frae  his  ain  house.  About 
yon  Lakes,  he's  just  perfectly  intolerable. 

Tickler.  Come — have  done  with  the  Lakers. 

North.  I  confess  criticism  is  not  what  it  ought  to  be,  not  what  it 
might  be.     But  am  I  a  bad  critic,  sir  ? 

The  Opium-Eater.  No,  sir,  you  may  justly  be  called  a  good  critic. 
For,  in  the  first  place,  you  have  a  reverent,  I  had  almost  said  a  devout 


1823.] 


IS    NORTH   A   CRITIC?  375 


regard  for  genius,  and  not  only  unliesitatingly,  but  with  alacrity  and 
delight,  pay  it  homage.  You  feel  no  degradation  of  self  in  the  exalta- 
tion of  others ;  and  seem  to  me  never  to  write  such  pure  English,  as 
when  inspired  by  the  divine  glow  of  admiration.  No  other  critic  do 
I  know  since  Aristotle,  to  compare  with  you  in  this  great  essential ; 
and  feeling  that  on  all  grand  occasions  you  are  cordial  and  sincere,  I 
peruse  your  eloquent  expositions,  and  your  fervid  strains  of  thought, 
not  always  with  entire  consentaneity  of  sentiment,  yet,  without  doubt, 
always  in  a  state  approximating  to  mental  unison ;  a  state  in  which  I 
am  made  conscious  of  the  concord  subsisting  between  the  great  strings 
of  our  hearts,  even  by  the  slight  discords  that  I  internally  hear  pro- 
ceeding with  an  under  tone,  among  the  inferior  notes  of  that  mightj 
and  mysterious  instrument. 

The  Shepherd.  Gude  safe  us  ! — that's  grand — and  it's  better  than 
grand,  it's  true.  I  forgie  the  lads  a'  their  sins,  for  sake  o'  their  free, 
out-spoken,  open-handed  praise,  when  they  do  mean  to  do  a  kind  thing. 
They  lauch  far  ower  muckle  at  me  in  their  Magazine ;  but  I  canna 
deny,  I  proudly  declare't,  that  none  o'  a'  the  critics  o'  this  age  hae 
had  sic  an  insight  into  my  poetical  genius,  or  roused  me  wi'  sic  fear- 
some eloquence.  When  they  eulogize  me  in  that  gate,  my  blood 
gangs  up  like  spirits  o'  wine,  and  I  fin'  myself  a'  gruin'  wi'  a  sort  o' 
courageous  sense  o'  power,  as  if  I  could  do  ony  thing,  write  a  better 
poem  than  the  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,  fecht  Bonaparte  gin  he  was 
leevin,  and  snap  my  fingers  in  the  very  face  o'  "The  Gude  Man." 

The  Opium-JEater.  But  farther ;  you,  sir,  and  some  of  your  coadju- 
tors, possess  a  fineness  of  tact  and  a  delicacy  of  perception,  that  I  in 
vain  look  for  in  the  critical  compositions  of  your  contemporaries.  You 
see  and  seize  the  beautiful  evanescences  of  the  poet's  soul ;  you  know 
the  regions  and  the  race  of  those  fair  spectral  apparitions  that  come 
and  go  before  the  "  eye  that  broods  on  its  own  heart."  Never  can 
poet  lament  over  your  blindness  to  beauty,  your  deafness  to  the  sounds 
singing  for  ever,  loud  or  low,  from  the  shrine  of  nature  ; — sir,  you  have 
no  common  sense^  and  that  in  this  age  is  the  highest  praise  that  can  be 
bestowed  on  the  immortal  soul  of  man. 

The  Shepherd.  The  deevil  the  like  o'  that  heard  I  ever  since  I  was 
born  !  The  want  o'  common  sense,  the  greatest  praise  o'  a  man's  im- 
mortal sowl ! 

North.  The  Opium-Eater  is  in  the  right,  James ;  there  is  no  com- 
mon sense  in  your  Kilmeny,  in  Coleridge's  Ancient  Mariner,  in  Words- 
worth's Ruth,  in  our  eloquent  friend's  "  Confessions."  Therefore  dolts 
and  dullards  despise  them — and  will  do  to  the  end  of  time. 

Tickler.  I  am  of  the  old  school,  gentlemen,  and  lay  my  veto  on  the 
complete  exclusion  of  common  sense  from  a  critical  journal.  But  I 
understand  what  Opium  would  be  at ;  and  verily  believe  that  he  speaks 
the  truth,  when  he  says,  that  the  wildest  creation  of  genius,  and  the 


876  NOCTES  AMBROSIAN^.  [Oct. 

fairest  too,  pure  poetry  in  short,  and  not  only  pure  poetry,  but  every 
species  of  impassioned  or  imaginative  prose,  is  understood  better,  deep- 
er, and  more  comprehensively,  by  Maga  than  Mrs.  Roberts 

The  Opium- Eater.    Mrs.  Roberts  ?     Pray,  who  is  she  ? 

TicMer.  Why,  My  Grandmother.  She  edits  the  British  Review.* ' 
It  was  a  whim  of  the  proprietors  to  try  a  female ;  so  they  bought 
Mother  Roberts  a  pair  of  spectacles,  a  black  sarsnet  gown,  and  an  arm- 
chair ;  and  made  her  a  howdy.  She  delivers  the  contributors,  and 
swathes  their  bantlings.  However,  she  has  been,  it  is  said,  rather  un- 
fortunate in  her  practice ;  for  although  most  of  the  brats  to  whom  she 
has  lent  a  helping  hand,  have  come  into  the  world  alive,  and  cried 
lustily,  yet  seldom  have  they  survived  the  ninth  day.  Poor  things ! 
they  have  all  had  Christian  burial ;  but  resurrection-men  have  grown 
to  a  lamentable  height ;  and  several  of  the  ricketty  infant  charges  of 
Mrs.  Roberts  have  been  traced  to  the  dissecting-table.  Lord  Byron,  it 
is  said,  has  bottled  a  brace  ;  but  there  is  no  end  of  such  shocking  sto- 
ries, so  push  about  the  toddy,  Christopher. 

North.  Pray,  is  it  true,  my  dear  Laudanum,  •  that  your  "  Confes- 
sions" have  caused  about  fifty  unintentional  suicides  ? 

The  Oinum-Eater.  I  should  think  not.  I  have  read  of  six  only ; 
and  they  rested  on  no  solid  foundation. 

Tickler.  What  if  fifty  foolish  fellows  have  been  buried  in  conse- 
quence of  that  delightful-  little  Tractate  on  Education?  Even  then  it 
would  be  cheap.  It  only  shows  the  danger  that  dunces  run  into,  when 
they  imitate  men  of  genius.  T'other  day,  a  strong-headed  annuitant 
drank  to  the  King's  health,  standing  upon  his  head,  on  the  pinnacle 
of  a  church  spire.  lie  afterwards  described  his  emotions  as  most  de- 
lightful. Up  goes  his  nephew  (his  sister's  son)  next  morning  before 
breakfast ;  and  in  the  excess  of  his  loyalty,  loses  his  heading ;  and  at 
the  conclusion  of  a  perpendicular  descent  of  180  feet  by  the  quadrant, 
alights  upon  a  farmer's  wife  going  to  market  with  a  pig  in  a  poke ; 
and  without  any  criminal  intention,  commits  one  murder  and  two  sui- 
cides.    Was  his  uncle  to  blame  ? 

North.  The  exculpation  of  the  Opium-Eater  is  complete.  A -single 
illustration  has  smashed  the  flimsy  morality  of  all  idle  objectors.  And 
now,  my  dear  friend,  that  you  have  fed  and  flourished  fourteen  years 
on  opium,  will  you  be  persuaded  to  try  a  course  of  arsenic  ? 

The  Opium-Eater.  I  have  tried  one ;  but  it  did  not  suit  my  consti- 

*  Mr.  Roberts,  a  lawyer,  was  proprietor  and  editor  of  a  quarterly  periodical  called  the 
British  Review  ;  and,  when  Byron  jocosely  said,  in  "  Don  Juan," 

"  I've  bribed  my  grandmamma's  Review,  the  British," 

Mr.  Roberts  was  so  silly  as  to  take  the  matter  seriously,  challenge  Byron  to  name  how  and 
when  the  bribe  was  given,  and  declare  that  the  whole  was  a  falsehood.  Byron  responded  in 
an  amusing  prose-epistle,  signed  "  Worthy  Clutterbuck,"  and  turned  the  laugh  against  his 
opponent.  It  is  difiBcult  to  realize  the  idea  of  a  man  being  so  completely  what  Hogg  would 
call  "just  a  green  guse." — M. 


1823.]  LEFE   AT  .ALTEIVE.  377 

tution  either  of  mind  or  body.    I  leave  the  experiment  to  younger 
men. 

Tickler.  Pray,  North,  tell  us  how  you  kissed  the  rosy  hours  at  Hogg's  ? 
Had  you  any  rain  ? 

North.  I  presume  Noah  would  have  thought  it  dry  weather ;  but 
we  had  a  little  moisture  for  all  that.  The  lake  rose  ten  feet  during  the 
month  I  sorned*  upon  the  vShepherd.  First  Sunday  morning  we 
thought  of  going  to  the  kirk  ;  but  looking  through  my  snug  bed-room 
window,  I  saw  a  hay-rick  with  Damon  and  Phoebe  sailing  down  the 
Yarrow  at  about  seven  knots  ;  so  I  shouted  to  them,  that  if  they  were 
going  to  divine  service,  they  would  please  apologize  for  me  to  the 
minister. 

The  Shepherd.  Lord,  man,  it  was  an  awfu'  spate  !f  The  stirks  and 
the  stots  came  down  the  water  like  straes ;  and  in  maist  o'  the  pools, 
sheep  were  thicker  than  sawmon.  I  heucked  a  toop  wi'  a  grilsh-flee, 
and  played  him  wi'  the  pirn  till  I  had  his  head  up  the  Douglas-Burn, 
but  he  gied  a  wallojD  in  the  dead-thraws,  and  brak  my  tackle. 

North.  On  the  twentieth  day,  the  waters  began  to  subside  ;  and  then 
how  beautiful  the  green  hill-tops  ! 

The  Shepherd.  Ay,  they  were  e'en  sae.  For  the  flocks  on  a  hundred 
hills  were  snaw-v\'hite,  and  the  pastures  drenched  and  dighted  by  the 
rains  and  the  winds,  till  they  kithed  brichter  than  ony  emerald,  and 
launched  up  to  the  bonny  blue  regions  aboon,  that  had  their  flocks, 
too,  as  quate  and  as  white  as  the  silly  sheep  o'  the  earth. 

Tickler.  Did  the  Shepherd  give  you  good  prog.  North  ? 

North.  Prime — choice — exquis.  Short  jigots  of  five  year  olds,  taper- 
jointed  and  thick-thighed,  furnished,  but  not  overloaded,  with  brown, 
crisp  fat,  deep-red  when  cut  into,  and  oozing  through  every  pore  with 
the  dark  richness  of  natural  gravy  that  overflowed  the  trencher,  with 
a  tempting  tincture  not  to  be  contemplated  with  a  dry  mouth  by  the 
most  abstemious  of  the  children  of  men. 

Tickler.  Go  on,  you  dog — what  else? — Please,  Mr.  Joyeuse,  ring 
the  bell.  Mr.  Ambrose  must  bring  us  a  devil.  Or  what  do  you  say 
to  supping  over  again  ? 

North.  To  such  mutton,  add  potatoes,  dry  even  in  such  a  season ; 
so  great  is  the  Shepherd's  agricultural  skill.  Ay,  dry  and  mouldering, 
at  a  touch,  into  the  aforesaid  gravy,  till  the  potato  was  lost  to  the  eye 
in  a  heap  of  sanguine  hue,  but  felt  on  the  j^alate,  amalgamated  with 
the  mountain  mutton  into  a  glorious  mixture  of  animal  and  vegetable 
matter;  each  descending  mouthful  of  which  kept  regenerating  the 
whole  man,  and  giving  assurance  of  a  good  old  age. 

Tickler.  Why  the  devil  don't  Ambrose  answer  the  bell  ? 

North.  Then  the  salmon.     In  the  Forest,  fish  follows  flesh.     It  is 

*  Sorned — sojourned ;  it  sometimes  means  sponged. — M. 
t  Spate— a.  flood. 


378  NOCTES   AMBROSIAN^.  [Oct. 

the  shoulder  cut.     Each  flake  is  clear  as  a  cairngorum — clear   and 
curdled — sappy — most  sappy. 

Tickler.  I  say,  why  the  devil  don't  Ambrose  answer  the  bell  ? 

{Rises  and  pulls  the  ivorsted  rope  till  it  snaps  in  twain.) 

North.  But  then  the  moorfowl !  The  brown-game  !  The  delicious 
mulattoes !  The  dear  pepper-backs !  Savoriness  that  might  be 
oucked  without  satiety  by  saint  and  sinner  for  three  quarters  of  an 
hour !     Oh  !  James,  that  old  cock  ! 

The  Shepherd.  He  was  as  gude  a  beast  as  I  ever  pree'd  ;*  but  I  did 
nae  mair  than  pree  him ;  for  frae  neb  to  doup  did  our  editor  devour 
him,  as  he  had  been  a  bit  snijoe — he  crunched  his  very  banes,  Mr. 
Tickler ;  and  the  very  marrow  o'  the  cretur's  spine  trinkled  down  his 
chin  frae  ilk  corner  o'  his  mouth,  and  gied  him,  for  the  while  being,  a 
most  terrible  and  truculent  feesionomy. 

Enter  Mr.  Ambrose. 

Tickler.  Bring  in  the  cold  round,  a  welsh-rabbit,  and  a  devil. 

[Exit  Ambrose.) 

North.  My  dear  Shepherd,  you  will  be  dubbing  me  of  the  Gorman- 
dizing School  of  Oratory. 

The  Shepherd.  Oratory !  Gude  faith,  ye  never  uttered  a  syllable 
till  the  cloth  was  drawn.  To  be  sure,  you  were  gran'  company  at  the 
cheek  o'  the  fire,  out  ower  our  toddy.  I  never  heard  you  mair  pleasant 
and  satirical.  You  seemed  to  hate  every  body,  and  like  every  body, 
and  abuse  every  body,  and  plaud  every  body  ;  and  yet,  through  a' 
your  deevilry  there  ran  sic  a  vein  o'  unendurable  funniness,  that,  had 
you  been  the  foul  Fiend  himsel,  I  maun  hae  made  you  welcome  to 
every  thing  in  the  house.  Watty  Bryden  has  had  a  stitch  in  his  side 
ever  sin'  syne ;  and  Fahope  swears  you're  the  queerest  auld  tyke  that 
ever  girned  by  an  ingle.  . 

North.  Read  that  aloud,  James.  It  is  an  article  Ebony  put  into 
my  hand  this  afternoon.     Let  us  hear  if  it  will  do  for  next  Number. 

ON  THE  GORMANDIZING  SCHOOL  OF  ORATORY. 
NO.   II. LAWLESS. 

We  were  informed  by  an  observing  Whig  friend,  who  sat  within 
two  or  three  of  Mr.  Lawless's  right  or  left  hand  at  "  The  Glasgow 
Dinner,"  that  never  in  his  life  did  he  see  such  a  knife-and-fork  played 
as  by  the  Irishman.!     No  sooner  had  Professor  Mylne  said  grace, 

*  Freer— io  taste.— M. 

t  In  the  autumn  of  1822,  at  what  was  called  "  The  Great  Glasgow  Dinner,"  one  of  the  guests 
was  John  Lawless,  editor  of  a  paper  in  Belfast,  called  The  Irishman.  He  was  a  man  to  make 
any  quantity  of  speeches,  being  always  ready,  with  the  true  copia  factrndi.,  and  sometimes 


1823.] 


sro 


than  Mr.  Lawless  began  munching  bread,  till  the  table-cloth  before 
him  was  all  over  crmnbs.  After  demolishing  his  own  roll,  nothing 
would  satisfy  him  but  to  clutch  his  neighbor's ;  in  which  act  of  ag- 
gression, (to  our  minds,  as  unjustifiable  as  the  partition  of  Poland,)  he 
was  resisted  by  the  patriotic  and  empty-stomached  constitutionalist,  to 
whom,  by  the  law  of  nature  and  nations,  the  staff  of  life  did,  beyond 
all  controversy,  belong.  At  this  critical  juncture,  a  waiter  clapped 
down  before  the  Irishman  a  profound  platter  of  warm  soup,  and  the 
vermicelli  in  a  moment  disappeared  from  the  face  of  the  earth.  As 
good  luck  would  have  it,  another  waiter  covered  the  emptied  trencher 
with  one  of  hotch-potch;  and  our  informant  expresses  his  conviction, 
that  Mr.  Lawless,  while  gobbling  up  the  mess,  retained  not  the  most 
distant  recollection  of  his  own  prior  performance.  A  cut  of  salmon 
then  went  the  way  of  all  flesh.  The  fish  was  instantly  pursued,  "with- 
out stop  or  stay,  down  the  narrow  way,"  by  the  spawl  of  a  turkey.  It 
appeared  to  our  astonished  informant,  that  the  Irishman  had  swal- 
lowed the  shank ;  but  in  that  he  had  afterwards  reason  to  believe  him- 
self mistaken.  True  it  was,  however,  that  a  cold  tongue,  half  as  long 
as  his  own,  but  with  a  different  twang,  went  down  the  throat  of  the 
distinguished  stranger  from  the  sister  kingdom.  A  dumpling,  like  a 
beetle,  followed  instanter  ;  an  apple-tart,  about  eight  inches  square, 
barely  turned  the  corner  before  a  custard,  and  our  last  fat  friend  was 
speedily  overtaken  by  six  sprightly  syllabubs.  At  this  stage  of  pro- 
ceedings, our  excellent  Whig  thought  it  high  time  to  look  after  him- 
self;  and  hence  he  was  unable  to  keep  an  eye  on  Orator  Lawless. 
But  he  distinctly  remembers  seeing  him  at  his  cheese.  Paddy  had 
manifestly  exchanged  his  own  plate  for  one  coming  down  the  table 
with  a  full  cargo ;  while  ever  and  anon  a  gulp  of  Bell's  Beer  swept 
millions  of  mites  into  the  great  receptacle  ;  and  finally,  a  long  de- 
lighted "  pech,"  from  the  bottom  of  his  stomach  and  his  soul,  told  that 
No.  II.  of  the  Gormandizing  School  of  Oratory,  would  ere  long  dis- 
charge a — Speech. 

In  this  proud  state  of  repletion  did  Mr.  Lawless  sit  for  about  three 
hours,  more  or  less,  digesting  his  dinner  and  his  harangue.  The 
Irishman,  like  most  of  his  countrymen,  has  rather  a  pleasant  appear- 
ance ;  and  now,  with  his  brow  bedewed,  his  cheeks  greased,  his  eyes 
starting  in  his  head,  and  his  stomach,  God  bless  him  !  tight  as  a  drum, 
he  arose.     You  might  have  heard  the  faintest  eructation,  so  dead 

rising  in%o  something  very  lilce  eloquence.  Lawless  had  studied  the  law,  but,  at  the  instance 
of  Lord  Clare,  (the  Irish  Chancellor,)  the  benchers  of  the  King's  Inn,  Dublin,  refused  to  call 
him  to  the  bar,  beciiuse  he  had  been  the  warm  friend  of  Robert  Emmett.  He  entered  into 
business  after  that,  but  settled  down  into  the  editorship  of  the  very  liberal  "Irishman."  He 
was  an  original  member  of  the  first  Catholic  Association,  but  offended  O'Connell  in  1S25,  by 
opposing  what  were  called  "  The  Wings" — concessions  from  the  Irish  Catholics,  in  view  of 
Catholic  Emancipation.  In  1832  he  was  defeated  as  a  candidate  for  Parliament,  and  died 
in  1837.  He  was  called  "  Honest  Jack  Lawless,"  from  his  courage  in  maintaining  his  own 
opinion,  believing  it  to  be  well-founded,  notwithstanding  the  opposition  of  O'Connell.— M. 


380  NOCTES   AMBR0SIAKJ3.  [Oct. 

was  tlie  silence  of  the  Assembly  Room.  Except  that  he  seemed  rather 
a  little  pot-bellied — as  well  he  might — his  figure  showed  to  no  disad- 
vantage after  that  of  Mr.  Brougham.  Yes!  "After  Mr.  Brougham 
had  concluded,  Mr.  Lawless,  proprietor  of  the  Irishman^  of  Belfast, 
rose  and  addressed  the  Assembly  in  a  most  impressive  and  animated 
manner." 

Conscious  of  his  own  great  acquirements,  which  our  readers  have 
seen  were  great,  the  eloquent  gormandizer  exclaimed  : 

"  I  hope  that  I  do  not  presume  too  much  when  I  say,  that  I  am 
proprietor  of  a  press  which  has  some  claims  to  independence.  I  am 
an  Irishman  ;  and  in  my  native  country  I  have  the  conducting  of  a 
press,  which,  to  the  inhabitants  of  that  part  of  Ireland,  is  its  greatest 

GUARDIAN    AND    CONSOLATION  !  !" 

Here  Mr.  Lawless  put  his  hand  to  his  stomach,  and  the  room  rang 
with  applause.  Well  might  he  have  said,  "I  feel  it  Aere, gentlemen." 
Soon  afterwards  he  spoke  of  "  a  starving  population,"  having  himself, 
in  one  single  half  hour,  devoured  victuals  that  would  have  kept  ten 
cabins  in  animal  food  from  Mullingar  to  Michaelmas.  But  hear  the 
glutton  after  deglutition  and  digestion  ! 

"  What  is  the  situation  of  the  Irish  peasant  ?  Goaded  to  madness 
by  the  law,  he  appeals  for  refuge  to  public  opinion.  That  opinion  is 
to  be  found  in  the  press — it  is  found  in  this  room  ;  it  is  found  in  the 
proverbial  generosity  of  Englishmen ;  it  is  discoverable  in  the  chari- 
ties OF  THE  HUMAN  HEART !"  So  the  Irish  peasant  is,  first  of  all,  to 
read  in  Mr.  Lawless's  Belfast  newspaper  what  is  public  opinion,  as  it 
exists  in  the  Assembly  Room  of  Glasgow,  and  what  are  the  charities 
of  the  human  heart  as  they  breathe  from  the  well-lined  stomach  of 
this  most  unconscionable  gormandizer ;  and  then  he  is  to  set  fire  to 
"  haggards  "  far  and  wide  over  a  blazing  country,  and  murder  families, 
father,  mother,  and  son,  in  cold  blood. 

But  now  the  dumpling  begins  to  work,  and  the  custard  cries  within 
him. 

"  Your  illustrious  guest  has  eloquently  spoken  of  the  wonders  which 
he  has  witnessed  in  his  tour  through  Scotland,  this  land  of  chivalry 
AND  beauty;  but  he  has  not  touched  on  a  much  greater  wonder  than 
this,  nor  has  it  yet  been  mentioned,  namely,  an  Irishman  addressing  a 
Scotch  assembly,  in  defence  of  the  civil  and  religious  freedom  of  his 
native  land,  and  that  Scotch  assembly,  not  only  listening  to  him  with 
the  utmost  toleration,  but  actually  cheering  him  in  his  progress." 

Now,  Pat,  you  are  indeed  an  Irishman.  How  the  devil  could  Harry 
Brougham  call  the  attention  of  the  company  to  the  miraculous  fact 
of  a  speech  from  Mr.  Lawless  before  you  had  opened  your  great 
bawling  mouth  ?  "  It  had  not  yet  been  mentioned,"  you  say  ;  and  I 
again  ask  you,  how  the  devil  it  could  ?  But  where  is  the  wonder  in 
an  Irishman  spouting  before  Scotch  Whigs,  upon  the  miseries  of  his 


1823.]  LAWLESS   AT   PAISLEY.  881  ' 

country  ?  Both  O'Connors  have  done  so  a  hundred  times,  and  many 
other  traitors,  now  hanged  or  expatriated.  Did  you  expect  to  be 
hissed  for  your  rhodomontade,  after  praising  the  "Chivalry  and 
Beauty  "  of  Glasgow  ?  And  was  your  oratory  a  "  greater  wonder  than 
these  f  Thou  art  a  most  ungrammatical  gormandizer,  Mr.  Lawless, 
proprietor  of  the  Irishman  of  Belfast ;  and  yet  so  delightedly  uncon- 
scious is  the  Devourer  of  Dumplings  of  the  bulls  and  blunders  that 
have  come  roaring  out  of  his  jaws,  that  he  winds  up  his  sage  exordium 
thus ;  and  then  we  have  no  doubt,  after  cracking  and  creaking,  lollop- 
ping  and  laboring,  stood  still  for  a  short  pace  of  time,  like  an  ill- 
appointed  jack,  that  seems  to  get  rusty  as  the  weight  is  wound  up,  and 
then  all  at  once  re-commences  operations,  as  if  a  brownie  had  got  into 
the  wheel,  and  was  making  a  fool  of  the  machinery. 

"Here,  Gentlemen,  is  the  Triumph  of  the  Press,  and  of  Eeason 
AND  Liberality." 

Our  gormandizer  then  goes  to  Paisley,  and  by  way  of  a  little 
variety,  he  dines  instead  of  sups.  At  Paisley,  however,  he  is  a  much 
greater  character  ;  for  he  is  the  Brougham  of  the  Saracen  Head.  The 
Scotsman  tells  us,  "  that  the  band  and  the  spirits  were  excellent."  So, 
we  know,  from  the  best  authority,  were  the  tripes,  the  black  pud- 
dings, the  hot  cockles,  and  the  red  herrings,  a  Dutch  importation  of  the 
1821.  Mr.  Lawless  then  made  his  expected  speech — the  sum  and 
substance  of  which  was  tliis,  in  his  own  words — "  What  more  does  a 
radical  reformer  want  than  what  Professor  Mylne  of  Glasgow,  in  his 
own  modest,  softened  phraseology,  was  pleased  to  call  a  substantial 
reform,  at  the  late  splendid  dinner  to  Mr.  Brougham  ?  I  have  been 
long  an  advocate  for  radical  reform,  understanding  the  term  radical 
exactly  in  the  sense  of  Professor  Mylne ;  and  what  then  does  radical 
mean  ?  It  means  this,  that  every  honest  man  of  sound  mind,  should 
have  the  right  to  choose  his  representative.  The  election  should  be 
frequent,  and  that  to  secure  the  honesty  of  the  constituent,  and  the  in- 
dependence of  the  representative,  the  suffrage  should  be  universal." 
Such,  according  to  the  Scotsman,  is  the  opinion  of  the  Reverend  James 
Mylne,  Professor  of  Moral  Philosophy  in  the  University  of  Glasgow, 
as  expounded  by  his  gormandizing  commentator,  Mr.  Lawless  of  Bel- 
fast.    We  can  no  more. 

At  the  request  of  the  President,  Mr.  Stewart,  a  friend  and  compan- 
ion of  Mr.  Lawless,  addressed  the  meeting  thus :  "  Mr.  Chairman,  I 
am  a  Catholic.  Here  do  I  stand  before  you,  with  manacles  on  my 
hands,  and  chains  on  my  legs  !"  He  ought  to  have  been  recommitted 
on  a  new  warrant. 

The  Shepherd.  I  hae  read  just  aneuch  o't.  It  will  do  for  Balaam, 
and  that  fule  Lawless  for  the  ass. 

JVorth.  James — James — you  are  getting  personal. 


882  NOCTES   AMBROSIANiE.  [Oct. 

Tickler.  Why,  this  red-hot  potato  supposes  itself  something  above 
common.  Only  think  of  his  bouncing  up  after  Brougham,  and  claim- 
ing both  kindred  and  equality  with  that  bird  of  passage.  Brougham 
is  not  a  phoenix,  in  my  opinion;  but  as  for  this  braying,  bragging, 
bawling,  bullying,  brazen-faced  bloclvhead,  with  his  blundering  blarney 
from  Belfast,  a  greater  goose  never  gabbled  on  a  green,  nor  groaned 
on  a  gridiron,  since  the  first  introduction  of  that  absurdest  of  all  fea- 
thered fowls  into  the  island  of  Great  Britain. 

The  Shepherd.  Stop  Tickler,  as  weel's  me,  Mr.  North. 

Tickler.  What  brought  the  hound,  with  his  Irish  howl,  into  the 
Lanarkshire  pack  ? 

The  Shepherd.  What  a  confusion  o'  a'  metaphors !  First,  this  Mr. 
Lawless  is  a  potawto — then  a  guse,  syne  a  jowler — and  forgie  me,  I 
mysel  ca'd  him  an  ass.     What,  what'll  he  be  neist  ? 

Tickler.  What  think  ye,  North,  of  the  fellow's  insolence  in  making 
free  with  Professor  Mylne's  name  in  that  way  ? 

North.  It  would  be  more  interesting  and  instructive  to  know  what 
Professor  Mylne  thinks  of  it,  and  also  how  he  rehshes  it.  Horrible 
degradation,  indeed,  to  a  man  of  genius,  learning,  and  virtue  !  But 
if  Pat  would  drag  the  Professor  into  the  Saracen's  Head,  how  could 
the  Professor  help  it  ? 

Tickler.  He  might  have  helped  it  by  holding  his  tongue  at  the 
Glasgow  dinner,  and  by  being  satisfied  with  saying  grace,  or,  better 
still,  by  staying  away.  But  this  is  not  the  first  time  the  worthy  Pro- 
fessor has  been  misrepresented  ;  and  let  us  beli-eve  that  Pat's  report 
of  his  speech  is  as  incorrect  as  (in  days  of  old)  Barbara's  note  of  his 
prayer,  and  commentary  on  his  selection  of  Scriptural  paraphases. 

The  Shepherd.  That's  a'  utter  darkness  to  me — ^some  local  allusion, 
I  suppose — like  so  many  jokes  in  your  Magazine  that  nobody  kens 
ony  thing  about,  but  some  three  or  four  o'  yoursels ;  and  yet  the  Mag- 
azine is  read  over  all  the  world  !  I  sometimes  get  sae  angry  at  that, 
that  I  think  you  a  set  o'  stupid  sumphs  thegither.  I  ken  the  Eng- 
lish folk  canna  thole't.  Gin  Mr.  Joyous  werena  sleeping,  he  wad  tell 
you  sae. 

North.  I  acknowledge  the  justice  of  your  rej^roof;  and  to  show 
you  that  I  mean  to  profit  by  it,  there  goes  into  the  fire  a  long  article 
of  fourteen  pages,  and  a  good  one  too,  written  by  myself  on  the  Glas- 
gow dinner.     Tickler's  fragment  is  enough.'* 

The  Shepherd.  Eh !  what  a  bleeze.  It's  maist  a  pity  to  see  the  low. 
Nae  doubt,  you  geed  them  an  awfu'  dressing  ;  but  far,  far  better  to 
prent  in  its  place  yon  gran  article  on  Wallenstein,  (is  that  right  pro- 
nounced ?)  or  even  that  ane  on  my  own  Perils  ;  for  I  have  observed, 

*  This  was  an  article  in  Blnckioood  for  October,  1S23,  (called  "  The  Glasgow  Dinner.  A 
Fragment.  By  Mr.  Tickler,")  which  undertook  to  be  very  severe  on  Mr,  Lawless,  as  an  ora 
tor,  bat  was  simply  a  strong  tirade  against  Catholic  Emancipation. — M. 


1823.]  COLEKIDGE.  383 

that  let  the  Whigs  do  or  dine,  or  drivel  as  they  choose,  none  but  them- 
selis  recollect  ony  thing  about  it,  aboon  a  week  at  the  farthest ;  and 
therefore  that  article,  now  black  in  the  awse,  might,  for  ony  novelty 
the  public  could  hae  seen  in't,  as  weel  been  a  description  of  Alexan- 
der's or  Belshazzar's  Feast. 

North.  Who,  think  ye,  Tickler,  is  to  be  the  new  editor  of  the  Quar- 
terly ?     Coleridge  ? 

Tickler.  Not  so  fast.  The  contest  lies,  I  understand,  between  him 
and  Odoherty.  That  is  the  reason  the  Adjutant  has  not  been  with  us 
to-night.     He  is  up  canvassing. 

The  Opium-Eater.  Mr.  Coleridge  is  the  last  man  in  Europe  to  con- 
duct a  periodical  work.  His  genius  none  will  dispute  ;  but  I  have 
traced  him  through  German  literature,  poetry,  and  philosophy  ;  and 
he  is,  sir,  not  only  a  plagiary,  but,  sir,  a  thief,  a  hona  fide  most  un- 
conscientious thief.  I  mean  no  disrespect  to  a  man  of  surpassing  tal- 
ents. Strip  him  of  his  stolen  goods,  and  you  will  find  good  clothes 
of  his  own  below.  Yet,  except  as  a  poet,  he  is  not  original ;  and  if  he 
ever  become  Editor  of  the  Quarterly,  (which  I  repeat  is  impossible,) 
then  will  I  examine  his  pretensions,  and  show  him  up  as  impostor. 
Of  Shakspeare  it  has  been  said,  in  a  very  good  song,  that  "  the  thief 
of  all  thiefs.was  a  Warwickshire  thief;"  but  Shakspeare  stole  from 
Nature,  and  she  forbore  to  prosecute.  Coleridge  has  stolen  from  a 
whole  host  of  his  fellow-creatures,  most  of  them  poorer  than  himself; 
and  I  pledge  myself  I  am  bound  over  to  appear  against  him."^  If  he 
plead  to  the  indictment,  he  is  a  dead  man — if  he  stand  mute,  I  will 
press  him  to  death,  under  three  hundred  and  fifty  pound  weight  of 
German  metaphysics. 

North,  Perhaps  it  is  a  young  Coleridge — a  son  or  a  nephew. 

The  Opium-Eater.  Perhaps.  Mr.  North,  I  was  most  happy  to  see 
you  let  Odoherty  do  something  like  justice  to  Don  Juan.  Why  will 
you  let  political  animosities  prevent  your  Magazine  being  a  real  reflec- 
tion of  the  literature  of  the  Tories  ?  I  never  saw  poetry  criticised  ex- 
cept in  Blackwood.  The  Edinburgh  Reviewers  know  nothing  about 
it.  The  Quarterly  are  hide-bound.  The  rest,  with  the  exception  of  a 
stray  writer  or  two,  are  both  ignorant  and  hide-bound.  Your  criti- 
cisms on  Shelley,  in  particular,  did  you  immortal  honor.  Every  body 
of  liberaHty  and  feeling  thanked  you.  Why  not  be  always  thus  ? 
Cut  up  the  Whigs  and  Whiglings,  (God  knows  they  are  vulnerable 
enough,)  and  the  Radicals  and  Repubhcaus,  (God  knows  they  are 

*  One  of  De  Quincey's  favorite  hobbies  was  a  pretence — it  may  have  been  a  belief — that  Cole- 
ridge stole  ideas  from  German  authors.  So  often  did  he  charge  the  poet  with  this,  (it  is  re- 
published in  the  Boston  edition  of  his  works,  brought  out  with  liis  authority,  and  to  a  certain 
extent  under  his  supervision,)  that  when  Coleridge's  family  brought  out  an  edition  of  the 
Biographia  Literaria,  a  lai'ge  space  of  the  introduction  was  dedicated  to  a  defence  of  the  au- 
thor from  the  Opium-Eater's  accusations.  Even  if  Coleridge  Jiad  plagiarized,  it  was  like 
stealing  lead,  to  melt  in  the  crucible  of  his  own  thought,  and  be  reproduced  as  rich  barbaric 
gold,  pure  as  from  the  mines  of  Ophir. — M. 


384  NOCTES   AMBROSIA]^^.  [Out. 

prostate  enougli,)  to  your  soul's  contentment.     Only  don't  mix  politics 
with  literature  ;  nor 

"  To  pai'ty  give  up  what  was  meant  for  mankind." 

North.  We  have  got  back  to  the  old  story.  What,  my  dear  sir,  do 
you  think  of  our  personality  ? 

The  Oinum-Eater.  It  is  the  only  charge  I  have  for  a  long  time  past 
heard  urged  against  you.  To  me  it  seems  a  very  trifling  matter,  and 
necessarily  unconnected  with  the  chief  merits  or  demerits  of  a  work 
so  various  and  profound  as  your  Magazine.  Coarse  attacks,  if  you 
have  any  such,  and  you  know  better  than  I  do,  fail  in  their  effect,- ex- 
cepting upon  animals  too  low  for  gentlemen's  game.  As  a  mere  affair 
of  taste,  I  should  say,  "use  the  dissecting-knife  rather  than  the  cleaver, 
and  leave  the  downright  butchering  business  of  literature  to  those  to 
whom  the  perquisite  of  the  offiil  may  be  of  consequence."  As  a  gene- 
ral rule,  I  would  say,  fight  a  gentleman  with  a  Damascus  blade,  tem- 
pered with  perfume  ;  with  a  blackguard,  why,  order  your  footman  to 
knock  him  down  ;  but  if  you  want  exercise,  and  now  and  then  choose 
to  turn  to  yourself,  and  drub  him  in  his  own  way,  where  is  the  objec- 
tion, I  should  like  to  know  ?     This  is  my  personality  creed. 

Tickler.  And  a  clear  creed  it  is,  thou  most  orthodox  Opium-Eater. 
One  thing  all  must  acknowledge,  that  people  cannot  help  judging  of 
personality  according  to  their  amiable  prejudices.  A  Whig  reads  a 
libel  on  a  Tory,  and  chuckles  over  it  as  a  most  midrift-moving  jeu 
d'esprit  worthy  of  Moore  himself,  or  Pirie's  Chronicle,  while  the 
pluckless  Tory  shows  it  to  his  friends,  who  tell  him  not  to  trouble  his 
head  aboitt  it,  as  it  is  evidently  a  piece  of  low  blackguardism  from 
some  hungry  hack  of  the  Old  Times.'^  A  Tory  reads  a  libel  on  a 
Whig,  and  instantly,  in  the  joy  of  his  heart,  gets  it  off  by  heart,  per- 
haps sets  it  to  music,  and  sings  it  at  Ambrose's;  while  the  enraged. 
Whig  consults  counsel,  carries  the  Tory  before  a  jury  of  his  country, 
and  bites  his  nails  over  farthing  damages.  All  this  is  very  perplexing 
to  a'simple  man  like  Timothy  Tickler. 

North.  In  that  perplexity  I  humbly  beg  leave  to  join.  There  is 
good  Mr.  Jeffrey,  of  whom  I  shall  never  speak  but  in  terms  of  the 
highest  respect,  who  calls  Coplestone,  the  Provost  of  Oriel,  a  great, 
awkward,  clumsy  barn-door  fowl,  foolishly  flapping  himself  into  an 
unavailing  effort  at  flight.f  He  even  changes  the  Provost's  sex, 
makes  him  a  hen,  swears  he  saw  him  lay  an  Qgg^  and  heard  him 
cackle.  There,  on  the  other  hand,  is  good  Mr.  Jeftrey,  as  fierce  as  a 
fiend  upon  me  in  a  court  of  justice,  because  Dr.  Olinthus  Petre  thought 

*  Dr.  Stoddart,  who  had  edited  The  Times,  commenced  The  New  Times,  in  opposition.  The 
original  paper  -was  then  usually  named  as  the  Old  Times— or,  as  Cobbett  loved  to  call  it, 
"  The  bloody  Old  Times."— M. 

t  Dr.  Edward  Copleston  was  elected  Bishop  of  Llandaflf  in  1827,  and  died  in  1849.— M. 


1823.] 


PERSONALITIES.  385 


he  perceived  some  resemblance,  either  in  face,  person,  dress,  habits,  or 
conversation,  between  a  friend  of  his  and  a  parrot,*  What  am  I  to 
make  of  all  this?  Is  a  parrot  an  animal  that  ranks  lower  in  the 
scale  of  creation  than  a  pullet?  Again,  the  same  lively  and  most 
exceedingly  candid  and  consistent  Mr.  Jeffrey,  calls  Mr,  Davison,  a 
clergyman,  (also  once  of  Oriel,)  a  rat  in  a  gutter,  and  all  the  fellows 
of  the  same  college,  cats,  or  retromingent  creatures,  which  Mr.  Jeffrey 
will  confess  is  a  most  incredible  accusation,  if  he  will  only  try  to 
qualify  himself  for  admission  into  that  society.  Now,  for  any  thing 
that  I  care,  Coplestone  may  be  a  barn-door  fowl,  Davison  a  rat,  and 
Plumer  a  cat ;  but  if  so — you  see  the  consequence  logical. 

Tickler.  Clearly,  most  noble  Festus.  I  have  long  observed  that 
you  never  speak  of  Mr.  Jeffrey  but  in  terms  of  the  highest  respect. 
So  do  I.  For  example.  Baron  Lawerwinkel  was  somewhat  severe  on 
the  late  Professor  Piayfair,  insinuating,  or  asserting,  I  forget  which, 
that  he  had  ceased  to  be  true  to  his  early  profession  of  faith.f  Up 
jumps  Jeff.,  and  sallies  forth  cap-a-pie,  against  the  Baron,  like  Jack  the 
Giant-Killer  ;  but  thinking  better  about  it,  he  doffs  his  armor,  buckles 
his  enormous  two-edged  sword,  half  as  long  as  himself,  and  betakes 
himself  to  railing  as  bitterly  as  a  northeast  wind  on  a  sleepy  morning. 
But  soft,  who  comes  here  ?  Not  a  grenadier,  but  Jeff,  himself,  calling 
out  upon  Mr,  Southey,  "  apostate,"  "  renegade,"  and  every  other  most 
opprobrious  epithet.  The  Baron  eyes  him  for  a  while  with  increased, 
but  calm  contempt,  and  then,  like  a  noble-minded  mastiff,  lifts  him 
up  gently  by  the  nape  of  the  neck,  and  drops  him  into  a  pool,  out  of 
which  he  scrambles  with  ludicrous  alacrity,  and  shaking  his  small 
sides,  barks  out  "  Personality."  Now,  Mr.  North,  ye  may  talk  in  high 
terms  of  respect  of  whomsoever  you  think  proper  to  flatter ;  but  of 
this  priggish  person,  for  this  particular  piece  of  priggery,  I,  Timothy 
Tickler,  have  chosen  to  speak  in  still  higher  terms  of  pity  and 
contempt. 

The  Ojnum-Eater.  I  confess  that  my  opinion  of  Mr,  Jeffrey  is  alto- 
gether different,  I  am  rather  disposed  to  think  with  Wordsworth, 
"  that  he  who  feels  contempt  for  any  living  thing,  has  faculties  that 
he  has  never  used,"  Mr,  Jeffrey  seems  to  me  to  be  an  amiable,  in- 
genious man,  without  much  grasp  and  of  no  originality ;  petulant 

*  Dr.  Olinthus  Petre  was  the  name  under  which  (in  Blackwood  for  November,  1820)  the  late 
Dr.  Maginn  charged  Professor  Leslie,  who  had  criticised  the  Hebrew  language,  with  thorough 
ignorance  on  the  subject.  In  this  article  Petre  said,  "  Am  I  to  bow  to  him  because  he  is  an 
Edinburgh  Reviewer  ?  I  question  the  inspiration  of  that  worthy  oracle  ; — and  as  to  the  Pro- 
fessor's own  part  in  its  lucubrations,  why,  his  impudent  puffings  of  himself,  and  ignorant 
sneerings  at  others,  have  often  made  me  liken  Leslie  the  Reviewer  to  some  enormous  over- 
fed pet  of  the  parrot  species,  stuck  up  at  a  garret- window,  and  occupied  all  day  with  saying, 
'  Pretty  poll — pretty  poll,'  to  itself ;  '  Foul  witch — foul  witch,'  to  every  passer-by."  This  com- 
parison gave  great  offence  to  the  Edinburgh  Whigs,  of  whom  Leslie  was  one,  and  was  set  forth, 
I  believe,  in  the  law-prosecution  of  Blackwood  by  Leslie,  as  having  brought  him  "into  hatred, 
contempt,  and  ridicule." — M. 

t  Baron  Lawerwinkel  (like  Kerapferhausen,  MuUion,  Buller,  Tims,  and  others)  was  one  of 
Blackwood's  Messieurs  de  r Imagination.. — M. 

VOL.  I.  17 


SSG  NOCTES    AMBROSIANJE.  [Oct. 

and  fretted  in  his  humors,  but  kind  and  cordial  where  he  has  a 
liking — not  surely  a  bitter  enemy,  and,  I  can  well  believe,  an  attached 
friend.  His  great  original  error  in  life  lay  in  his  attempting  to  sway 
the  mind  of  England :  a  giant  could  not  do  that,  nor  twenty  giants  ; 
no  wonder,  then,  that  signal  discomfiture  befell  one  single  dwarf.  If 
I  might  be  allowed  to  use  an  illustration,  after  the  manner  of  Mr. 
Tickler,  I  should  say  that  Mr.  Jeffrey,  being  ambitious  of  notice,  con- 
ceived the  scheme  of  going  up  in  a  balloon — that  the  machine  was 
constructed  of  the  proper  material,  a  light  silk,  and  not  nntastily 
ornamented ;  but  that  unfortunately  there  was  a  deficiency  of  gas,  so 
that  the  globus  aerostaticus  was  never  sufiiciently  inflated.  The  cords, 
however,  were  cut,  and  the  enterprising  voyager  began  to  ascend. 
By  and  by,  getting  entangled  somehow  or  other  by  the  foot,  there  he 
hung  with  his  head  downwards,  while  the  balloon  cleared  the  roofs 
of  the  houses,  but  could  make  no  approximation  to  the  lowest  strata 
of  clouds.  Finally,  Mr.  Jeftrey  got  released,  and  he  and  his  balloon 
came  to  the  earth  almost  together,  and  without  any  serious  hurt  to 
the  aeronaut,  but  the  vehicle  was  irremediably  injured,  and  in  all 
probability  will  never  more  be  able  to  reach  the  chimney-top. 

The  She2oherd.  Odd's  my  life !  that  simile's  just  unco  like  Tickler, 
wi'  a  great  tinge  o'  eloquence ;  for,  oh  dear  me !  after  all,  a  weel-edu- 
cated  Southron  says  things  in  a  tosh  and  complete  manner,  that  we 
modern  and  northern  Athenians  canna  come  up  to  for  our  lives. 
There's  nae  denying  that. 

The  Opium-Eater.  With  regard  to  these  ludicrous,  and,  as  many 
persons  may  not  unwarrantably  call  them,  impertinent  and  insolent 
expressions  of  Mr.  Jeffrey,  more  especially  impertinent  and  insolent 
when  applied  to  persons  in  the  same  rank  of  life  as  his  own,  and  in- 
deed somewhat  superior,  at  least  more  dignified  and  authoritative,  I 
should  say,  that  most  probably  Mr.  Jeffi'ey  employed  them  without 
any  very  culpable  feeling  towards  the  patties,  and  merely  in  compli- 
ance with  the  spirit  of  that  vituperatiye  system  of  contention  with 
our  real  or  supposed  opponents,  which  he  did  not  originate,  but  which, 
nevertheless,  he,  by  his  popular  abilities,  and  by  the  favor  which  the 
Edinburgh  Review  found  with  a  gi'eat  portion  of  the  reading  public, 
helped  to  make  of  very  great  prevalence  in  the  periodical  literature 
of  this  country.  A  high-minded,  and  high-facultied  man,  could 
scarcely,  I  think,  have  written  as  Mr.  Jeff'rey  has  too  often  done ;  but 
I  do  not  wish  rashly  to  assert  that  he  might  not,  remembering  the 
vulgar  virulence  of  Milton,  not  truly  to  his  equals  or  superiors,  for 
where  were  they,  but  to  his  inferiors  indubitably,  and  without  refer- 
ence to  individuals,  to  all  that  portion  of  mankind,  or  womankind, 
concerning  whom  he  wrote  in  a  controversial  or  polemical  spirit. 

North.  Wisely  spoken.  But  Mr.  Tickler  chiefly  despises  him,  as  it 
seems  to  me,  for  the  hypocritical  claim  he  advances  to  Derfect  freedom 


1823.]  THE   WHIGS.  38T 

from  this  failing,  and  for  the  bitterness  with  which  he  arraigns  that 
conduct  in  others  of  which  he  is  himself  more  frequently  guilty  than 
any  other  man  of  eminence  in  this  age. 

The  Opium-Eater.  That  is  another  matter,  and  therein  he  is  with- 
out defence. 

The  Shepherd.  "Weel,  then,  Mr.  Tickler,  is  party-spirit,  think  ye, 
likely  to  rin,  like  a  great  heavy  sea,  ower  domestic  intercourse  in  fami- 
lies, this  winter  ? 

Tickler.  Why,  James,  I  neither  know  nor  care.  My  friends,  for 
upwards  of  half  a  century,  have  been  Tories-;  and  what  is  the  sour 
sulky  face  of  a  captious  Whig  to  "me,  any  more  than  his  portrait  in  a 
picture — falling  from  which,  I  turn  in  calm  contempt,  or  deep  disgust, 
to  the  well-pleased  countenance  of  some  staunch  lover  of  his  country 
and  his  King  ? 

The  Shepherd.  But  isna  it  a  desperate  pity  to  see  mony  clever  chiels 
keepit  apart  just  for  mere  difference  o'  opinion  about  the  government  ? 

Tickler.  Pray,  where  are  all  these  "  clever  chiels  ?"  Take  away 
about  four  Whigs,  and  are  not  all  the  rest  confounded  dogs  ?  I  can- 
not really  be  too  grateful  to  party-spirit  for  keeping  such  gentry  in 
their  own  circles.  I  hope,  James,  you  are  not  going  to  join  the 
Pluckless  ? 

North.  I  am  more  Whiggish  than  you.  Tickler.  W^hat  can  be 
more  amiable  than  the  present  zeal  of  the  Whigs  in  the  cause  of 
Spain  ?  They  are  doing  all  they  can  to  wipe  off  the  foul  stain  of  their 
truckling  to  Bonaparte  when  he  stormed  Spain.  They  are  crying 
shame  upon  their  former  selves ;  and  why  not  believe  them  to  be  sin- 
cere? 

Tickler.  Hypocrites. 

North.  Then,  have  they  not  subscribed  four  thousand,  three  hun- 
dred, sixteen  shillings,  and  eight-pence  three  farthings,  for  the  Greeks  ? 

Tickler.  Scrubs. 

North.  Did  they  not  wish  us  to  go  to  war,  like  a  brave  people  ? 

Tickler.  Fools. 

North.  Did  they  not  call  Bonaparte  the  guardian  of  the  liberties  of 
the  world  ? 

Tickler.  Liars. 

North.  Who  but  they  would  change  our  criminal  law  ? 

Tickler.  Knaves. 

North.  Are  they  not  for  a  "  substantial  r-eform  ?" 

Tickler.  Radicals. 

North.  Are  they  not  adverse  to  the  prosecution  of  the  foes  to 
Christianity  ? 

Tickler.  Deists. 

North.  Would  they  not  fain  overlook  blasphemy  ? 

Tickler.  Atheists. 


388  NOCTES   AMBROSIANiEJ.  [OoT.   1823. 

North.  Are  they  not  friends  to  the  liberty  of  the  Press  ? 
Tickler.  Libellers. 

The  Shepherd.  You  stopt  me  a  while  since,  and  I  cry  stop  till  baith 
o'  you  now.  I  kenna  wha's  the  worst.  I  hae  nae  notion  o'  sic  despe- 
rate bitterness  in  politics.  What  can  Mr.  Joyous  be  thinking  a'  this 
while  ?  Mr.  Vivian,  you  haena  spoken  muckle  the  nicht,  but  the  little 
you  did  say  was  to  the  purpose.  I  dinna  like  folk  ower  furthy  a'  at 
ance.  Besides,  you  are  sadly  knocked  up,  man.  That  Gretna  Green 
is  a  sad  business. 

North  {laying  his  gold  repeater  on  the  table).  Twelve  o'clock.  Old 
Chronos  smites  clearly,  and  with  a  silver  sound.  My  dear  Vivian,  we 
keep  early  hours,  and  your  young  bride  will  be  in  tears.  I  understand 
your  silence,  and  know  your  thoughts.  You  are  at  Barry's  Hotel. 
None  better.  Allow  me  to  accompany  you  to  the  steps.  Give  me 
your  arm,  my  good  boy. 

(Exeunt  omnes — North  leaning  on  Joteuse  and  the  Opium- 
Eater,  Mr.  Ambrose  bustling  before  with  the  blazing 
branches,  and  Tickler,  arm-in<(.rm  with  the  Shepherd, 
in  the  rear.) 


389 


No.  XIIL— MARCH,  1824. 


Dram.  Pers. — North  and  Ticklee. 

TicMer.  Proper  humbug ! — but  don't  rail,  North,  for  I  remember 
his  father 

North.  I  rail ! — I  like  him  better  than  most  of  them,  for  he  has 
pluck — he  has  the  old  lad's  blood  in  him.  I  was  only  wondering  that 
he  should  again  commit  himself  in  such  a  way ;  but  there  really  is  no 
accounting  for  Whig  conduct. 

TicMer.  Pooh !  pooh !  I  was  joking,  man ;  he  is  in  private  a 
pleasant  fellow  enough,  but  in  public,  he  is  one  of  the  hacks  of  the 
party,  and  of  course  obliged  to  get  through  such  things.  Yet  it 
would  be  no  harm,  I  think,  if  he  remembered  to  what  set  of  men,  and 
what  system,  his  people  owed  their  honors ;  and,  perhaps,  although 
he  is  in  the  service  of  the  Duke  of  Devonshire,*  such  a  recollection 
might  make  him  less  rabid  on  the  followers  of  Pitt. 

North.  Hang  it !  such  a  cheese-paring  is  not  worth  wasting  a  sen- 
tence about.  Keep  moving  with  the  Review.  The  price  of  tea — I 
think  we're  that  length 

TicMer.  I  leave  to  the  swallowers  of  Souchong,  Campoi,  Hyson, 
Hymskin,  Bohea,  Congou,  Twankay,  and  Gunpowder.  This  will  be 
a  favorite  article  with  the  Cockneys — with  the  leafy — that  is,  tea- 
leafy  bards,  who 

Te  redeunte  die,  te  decedente  canebant. 

It  is  nothing  to  us. 

North.  Nothing  whatever.  I  leave  it  and  the  discussion  on  the 
Holy  Alliance,  to  be  swallowed  by  those  whom  it  is  meant  for. 

TicMer.  The  Jeremiade  over  the  Italian  traitors  is  vastly  interesting; 
then  it  appears,  that,  after  all,  only  one  of  the  ruflSans  expiated  his 
crimes  on  the  gallows. 

North.  God  bless  the  Jacobins,  and  their  child  and  champion.  They 
would  have  made  cleaver  work  of  it.  It  is,  however,  quite  comfortable 
to  hear  Old  Bailey  lawyers,  like  Denman  and  Brougham,  talking  of 

*  It  would  appear  from  this  that  the  delinquent  was  James  Abercromby,  the  Duke's  stew- 
ard, and  now  Lord  Dumferline,  with  a  pension  of  £4000  a  year  for  his  own  life,  and  that  of 
his  son,  as  ex-Speaker  of  the  House  of  Commons ! — M. 


390  N0CTE8   AMBROSIANiEJ.  [March, 

the  savageness  of  the  Austrian  Government,  when  they  must  know, 
that  in  a  population  double  our  own,  the  executions  are  as  one  to  five, 
if  not  in  a  still  smaller  proportion.  A  Vienna  review,  if  there  be  such  a 
thing,  could  finely  retort  that  in  our  faces.     With  respect— 

Odoherty  {outside).  The  club-room  —  only  Mr.  North  and  Mr. 
Tickler. 

Waiter  {outside).  That's  all,  sir.  There's  a  trifle  of  a  balance,  sir, 
against  you  since 

Odoherty  {speaks  as  he  enters).  Pshaw — don't  bother  me,  man, 
with  your  balances.  Do  you  think,  when  the  interests  of  the  world 
are  going  to  be  debated — Gentlemen,  a  pair,  am  right  glad  to  see 
you. 

North.  Sit  down. 

Tickler.  And  here's  a  clean  glass. 

Aor^A.  What  will  ye  drink  ? 

Tickler.  Champagne,  Chateau-Margot,  Glenlivet,  or  Jamaica  ? 

North.  We  have  got  to  the  hot  stufi"  this  hour.  Will  you  try  our 
jug,  or  make  for  yourself? 

Tickler.  I  recommend  the  jug. 

Odoherty.  I  am  quite  agreeable  wherever  I  go.  Here's  a  bumper 
to  your  health,  and  that  of  all  good  men  and  true. 

Tickler.  How  long  are  you  arrived  ? 

Odoherty.  Half  an  hour.  Knew  I'd  meet  somebody  here.  Where 
are  the  rest  ? 

North.  Hogg  is  at  work  with  his  epic  poem. 

Odoherty.  His  He-pig  poem  you  mean.  Queen  Hynde,  if  I  mistake 
not.     A  great  affair,  I  suppose. 

Tickler.  Quite  grand.  The  Shepherd  has  been  reading  it  all  over 
the  hills  and  far  away.  There  are  fine  bits  in  it,  I  assure  you.  I 
heard  the  exordium ;  it  is  splendid. 

Odoherty.  Do  you  remember  any  of  it  ? 

Tickler.  No — not  enough  at  least  to  spout. 

Odoherty.  I  met  Jemmy  Ballantyne  at  York — we  supped  together 
— and  he  told  me  he  had  heard  it  was  to  open  hke  the  JEneid  or 
Madoc. 

North.  The  JEneid  or  Madoc !  Just  as  you  would  say  Blackwood's 
Magazine  and  the  London  !     How  do  you  mean  ?  •     > — -^ — ■ 

Odoherty.  Why,  with  a  recapitulation  of  all  his  works— as  thus — I 
quote  from  memory — 

Tickler  {aside).  Or  imagination. 

Odoherty. 

Come  listen  to  my  lay,  for  I  am  he 
Who  wrote  Kilmeny's  wild  and  wondrous  song, 
Likewise  the  famous  Essay  upon  Sheep, 
And  Mador  of  the  Moor :  and  then,  unlike 


1824.]  BTEON.  -         391 

Those  men  "who  fling  their  pearls  before  the  Hog, 
I,  Hogg,  did  fling  my  Perils  before  men.* 

Worth.  A  pun  barbarous, 
Odoherty. 

But  still  more  famous  for  the  glorious  work, 
"Which  I,  'neath  mask  of  oriental  sage, 
Wrote  and  concocted  in  auspicious  hour — 
The  Chaldee  Manusceipt — which,  with  a  voice 
Of  thundei'ing  sound,  fulmined  o'er  Edinburgh, 
Shook  the  old  Calton  from  its  granite  base, 
Made  Arthur's  Seat  toss  up  its  lion  head, 
And  snuff  the  wind  in  wonder ;  while  around, 
Eastward  and  westward,  northward,  southward,  all 
The  ungodly,  struck  with  awe  and  ominous  dread 
Of  the  great  ruin  thence  impending  o'er  them, 
Fled  frighted,  leaving  house  and  home  behind, 
In  shameful  rout — or,  grovelling  prostrate,  showed 
Their  nether  parts  uncomely 

.  Tickler.  I  think  you  may  stop  there. 

North.  In  all  conscience  :  I  shall  not  permit  Hogg  to  be  quizzed. 
He  is  too  good  a  fellow,  and  I  am  sure  his  poem  will  do  him  credit. 
Sing  a  song,  Ensign,  for  you  seem  to  be  in  fine  voice. 
Odoherty  [sings). 

"Would  you  woo  a  young  virgin  of  fifteen  years. 

You  mtist  tickle  her  fancy  with  Sweets  and  Dears, 

Ever  toying  and  playing,  and  sweetly,  sweetly, 

'Sing  a  love-sonnet  and  charm  her  ears — 

"Wittily,  prettily,  talk  her  down — 

Phrase  her  and  praise  her,  fair  or  brown — 

Soothe  her  and  smooth  her. 

And  tease  her  and  please  her. 

Ah !  touch  but  her  fancy,  and  all's  your  own 

I  must  have  a  glass  ere  I  take  the  next  stanza. 

"Would  you  woo  a  stout  widow  of  forty  years— 

Tickler.  Come,  stop,  stop,  Odorherty,  none  of  your  stuff.  Any  lite- 
rary news  in  London  town  ? 

Odoherty.  Not  much.  Lord  Byron,  you  are  aware,  has  turned 
Turk. 

North.  Greek,  you  mean.* 

Odoherty.  Ay,  ay — Greek,  I  meant.  I  always  confound  these 
scoundrels  together.  But  the  Greeks  in  London  have  met  with  a  sad 
defeat.     That  affair  of  Thurtell's  was  a  bore. 

*  Two  of  Hogg's  prose  fictions  were  "  Three  Perils  of  Man,"  and  "  Three  Perils  of  Woman.' 
They  are  amusing  enough,  but  often  improbable  in  incident,  and  sometimes  too  broad  in  lan- 
guage and  sentiment. — M. 

t  Byron  quitted  Genoa  the  Proud  in  August,  1823,  for  Greece,  where  he  died  on  the  19th 
April,  1824.— -M. 


392  NOCTES  AMBROSIAIT^:.  [March, 

Tickler.  Curse  the  ruffian — the  name  ought  not  to  be  mentioned  in 
decent  society.     But  Weare  was  just  as  great  a  blackguard. 

Odohcrty.  Yes ;  and  Sam  Rogers  says  that  that  is  the  only  excuse 
for  Thurtell.     He  did  right,  said  Sam,  to  cut  such  an  acquaintance. 

North.  Why,  Sam  is  turning  quite  a  Joe  Miller.  Have  you  seen 
the  old  gentleman  lately  ? 

Odoherty.  About  a  fortnight  ago — Tom  Moore  was  with  him. 

North.  I  thought  Tom  was  rusticating. 

Odoherty.  Yes,  in  general ;  but  he  is  now  in  town,  bringing  out  a 
new  number  of  his  Melodies. 

North.  Is  it  good  ? 

Odoherty.  Nobody  except  Power  and  his  coterie  has  seen  it  yet  ;*  but 
I  understand  it  is  very  excellent.  It  will  be  out  in  a  couple  of  months. 
There  is  one  song  in  it  to  the  tune  of  the  Boyne  Water ;  the  great 
Orangemen  tune,  you  know,  which  is  making  them  nervous. 

North.  Why? 

Odoherty.  Because  conciliation — curse  the  five  syllables,  as  Sir 
Abraham  King  says — is  carried  to  such  a  happy  pitch  in  Ireland,  that 
tune,  toast,  statue,  picture,  displeasing  to  the  majority,  are  denounced 
as  abominable. 

North.  A  pretty  one-sided  kind  of  conciliation  with  a  vengeance ! 
but  I  am  sorry  Moore  is  so  squeamish.     Are  the  words  Orange? 

Odoherty.  Not  at  all ;  some  stuff  about  an  angel  or  nymph  rising 
out  of  the  Boyne,  and  singing  a  song  to  pacify  the  natives.f 

Tickler.  And  even  this  must  not  be  published,  for  fear  of  offending 
the  delicate  ears  of  Sheilinagig];  and  Co. !  Is  not  Moore  doing  a  jeu 
d^esjyrit  about  your  Irish  Rugantino,  Captain  Rock? 

*  James  Power,  a  music-publisher  in  London,  employed  Moore,  from  1806  to  1836,  (when 
Power  died,)  to  write  the  Irish  Melodies  and  other  songs  for  him.  For  the  Melodies  alone,  he 
paid  him  £500  a-year  during  those  30  years.  There  are  124  Melodies,  and  as  the  whole  amount 
received  by  Moore  was  £15,000 — to  say  nothing  of  loss  of  interest,  which  would  more  than 
quadruple  it,  by  arithmetical  progression — Moore  actually  received  £121  for  each  of  those 
songs.  Their  average  length  was  twenty  lines, — which  would  make  the  payment  over  £6  or 
$30  a  line  ! — Moore's  correspondence  with  Power,  during  thirty  years,  amounted  to  over 
1200  letters,  all  of  which  were  submitted  by  Power's  daughters  to  Lord  John  Kussell,  editor  of 
Moore's  Memoir,  Journal,  and  Correspondence.  Russell  selected  only  57  out  of  these,  which 
he  printed  with  omissions.  The  whole  collection  was  then  sold  by  public  auction  in  London, 
and  thus  dispersed  for  ever.  A  volume  was  prepared,  giving  the  gist  of  this  correspondence, — 
it  was  even  printed.  But  Lord  John  Russell,  thinking  that  it  was  not  likely  to  exalt  the  char- 
acter of  Moore — whose  conduct  to  Power,  even  while  literally  supported  by  him,  was  insolent 
and  ungrateful— threatened  to  apply  for  an  injunction  to  restrain  the  publication,  (as  had 
been  successfully  done,  in  1824,  by  Byron's  letters  to  his  mother  and  to  Mr.  Dallas,  on  the  le- 
gal ground  that  his  executors  alone  had  a  publishing  property  in  his  correspondence,)  and  the 
appearance  of  the  book  in  England  was  prevented.  HoAvever,  it  has  been  published  in  this 
country,  with  an  explanatory  introduction  by  Crofton  Croker,  and  unhappily  shows  that  as 
no  man  is  a  hero  to  his  val^t-de-chambre,  so  a  poet  may  be  very  "  small  deer"  in  his  rela- 
tions with  his  publisher. — M. 

t  The  melody  represents  vanquished  Erin  weeping  beside  the  river  Boyne,  into  which  Dis- 
cord drops  his  quiver,— each  year  to  return,  recover,  and  disperse  them  through  Ireland; 
and,  when  she  asks  the  power  of  Good  when  this  is  to  end,  the  Demon  replies,  "  Never  !"  It 
was  a  puerile  fancy  feebly  elaborated  into  song.— M. 

X  There  is  an  Irish  air  called  Sheillnagig.  Once  upon  a  time,  in  Dublin,  when  one  of  the 
gi-eat  Irish  orators,  who  had  accidentally  injured  one  of  his  legs,  was  proceeding  through 
Sackville-street  in  a  Bath  chair,  a  bystander,  (viz.  Mr.  J.  Q-.  Maeder,  the  musical  composer. 


1824.] 


HAJJI  BABA.  393 


Odoherty.  Yes — but  lie  is  nervous  there  too.*  Longman  &  Co.  are 
cautious  folk,  and  it  is  submitted  to  Denman,  or  some  other  doer,  who 
will  bedevil  it,  as  he  did  the  Fables  for  the  Holy  Alliance. 

Tickler.  Well,  Longman  has  published,  however,  one  little  book  this 
year,  that  bears  no  marks  of  the  knife — have  you  seen  that  clever 
thing — the  "  Stranger's  Grave,"  I  mean  ? 

Odoherty.  I  have  to  be  sure,  so  has  all  the  world — but  still  upon 
the  whole  it  is  not  to  be  denied,  that  the  Divan  have  not  half  the 
spunk  of  their  rival  who  rules  in  the  west  of  the  Empire  of  Cock- 
aigne. 

North.  Joannes  de  Moravia?  Have  you  seen  him,  Odoherty,  in 
your  travels  ? 

Odoherty.  Of  course — of  course — a  most  excellent  fellow  that  said 
bibliopole  is. 

North.  That  I  know.     How  does  he  carry  on  the  war  ? 

Odoherty.  In  the  old  style.  Morier  and  his  people  are  mad  with 
you  for  your  blackguard  review  of  Hajji  Baba.f 

North.  My  blackguard  review,  Mr.  Adjutant — it  was  you.  who 
wrote  it. 

Odoherty.  I !  Well,  that  beats  Banagher.J 

Tickler.-  No  matter  who  wrote  it — it  was  a  very  fair  quiz — ^better 
than  any  thing  in  the  novel — though  really  I  must  say  that  I  consider 
Hajji  rather  an  amusing  book  after  all. 

North.  N'importe.     Has  Murray  much  on  hand  ? 

Odoherty.  A  good  deal.  Croker  is  going  to  publish  with  him  the 
Suffolk  Papers.§ 

North,  Heavy,  I  suppose. 

now  of  New- York,)  being  asked  by  a  friend  fi'om  the  country,  who  was  that  little  man  with  the 
large  flashing  eyes,  musically  answered,  "Sheil-in-a-gig." — M. 

*  Moore's  Memoirs  of  Captain  Rock  appeared  in  April,  1824 — was  much  abused  by  Black- 
wood and  other  Tory  publications,  but  was  very  successful. — M. 

+  The  Adventures  of  Hajji  Baba  of  Ispahan  ;  a  novel,  in  three  volumes,"  was  published  in 
London,  by  Murray,  in  1824.  It  was  reviewed  in  Blackwood  for  January,  1825-  Oddly  enough, 
Ebony,  which  had  attributed  "  Anastasius  "  to  Lord  Byron,  who  did  not  write  it,  made  another 
blunder  in  this  review,  by  affiliating  "  Hajji  Baba  "  upon  Thomas  Hope,  the  actual  author  of 
"  Anastasius,"  and  said,  "  The  work  is  not  merely  as  regards  matter,  interest,  taste,  and  choice 
of  subjects,  three  hundred  per  cent,  at  least  under  the  mark  of  Anastasius,  but  the  style  is 
never  forcible  and  eloquent ;  and,  in  many  places,"  to  say  the  truth,  it  is  miserably  bad." 
Again,  "  Of  Anastasius,  one  would  say  that  it  seemed  to  have  been  written  by  some  mighty 
hand,  from  a  store,  full,  almost  to  overflowing,  with  rich  and  curious  material :  of  Hajji  Baba, 
that  some  imitator,  of  very  little  comparative  force  indeed,  had  picked  up  the  remnant  of  the 
rifled  note-book,  and  brought  it  to  market  in  the  best  shape  that  he  was  able."  It  appeared, 
after  all,  that  James  Morier  was  the  author.  In  early  life  he  had  travelled  extensively  in  the 
East,  and  related  his  adventures  in  "  Travels  through  Persia,  Armenia,  Asia  Minor  to  Con- 
stantinople." In  1810,  at  the  age  of  thirty,  he  was  appointed  British  Envoy  to  the  Court  of 
Persia,  where  he  remained  until  1816,  and  soon  after  liis  return,  published  "  A  second  Journey 
through  Persia."  This  was  followed  by  Hajji  Baba,  which  (despite  the  BUtckwood  criticism) 
is  very  clever.  In  a  second  series,  he  brouglit  his  hero — a  sort  of  Persian  picaroon,  on  the 
Gil  Bias  model — into  England.  In  Zohrab  the  Hostage,  and  other  works  of  prose  fiction,  Mr. 
Morier  showed  great  knowledge  of  Eastern  life,  manners  and  customs,  and  considerable  skill 
in  embodying  it.    He  died  in  1848,  aged  sixty-eight. — M. 

X  There  is  an  Irish  saying,  "  That  beats  Banagher,  and  Banagher  beats  the  world." — M. 

§  John  Wilson  Croker  edited  the  Letters  of  Lord  Hervey,  the  Suffolk  Papers,  and  Lord 
Hervey's  Memoirs  of  the  Reign  of  George  the  Second. — M. 

17* 


394  NOCTES  AMBEOSIAN^.  [March, 

Odoherty.  No — the  contrary — at  least  so  I  am  told.  Croker  could 
not  do  any  thing  heavy. 

North.  He  is  fond  of  editing  old  papers — Lord  Hertford  has  placed 
the  Conway  Papers  in  his  hands ;  and  I  perceive,  by  a  note  in  the 
new  edition  of  D'Israeli's  "Curiosities  of  Literature,  that  the  old  gentle- 
man  

Tickler.  An  excellent  judge. 

North.  Few  better — declares  that  they  will  throw  much  light  on 
our,  that  is,  English  history. 

Odoherty.  Apropos  of  Croker — a  namesake  of  his,  ^nd  a  country- 
man of  mine,  a  fine  lad,  one  of  my  chiefest  chums,  indeed,  has  brought 
out  with  Murray  a  quarto  on  the  South  of  Ireland. 

North.  I  have  not  read  it — -just  looked  over  the  prints — very 
famous  lithography,  by  my  honor. 

Odoherty.  Oh,  the  Nicholsons  are  prime  fists  at  that  kind  of  work. 
The  book  has  sold  in  great  style,  which  is  no  bad  thing  for  a  lump  of 
a  quarto.*    How  does  Maga  get  on  ? 

North.  As  usual.     Are  our  brother  periodicals  in  statu  quo  ? 

Odoherty.  Yes,  heavy  and  harmless.  Whittaker  is  going  to  start  a 
new  bang-up,  to  be  called  the  Universal — a  most  comprehensive  title. 

North.  It  is,  I  understand,  a  second  Avatar  of  the  New  Edinburgh, 
with  some  fresh  hands.     God  send  it  a  good  deliverance ! 

Tickler.  Was  the  Universal  the  name  originally  proposed  ? 

Odoherty.  No — the  Bimensial — as  it  is  to  come  out  every  two 
months.  Rogers  knocked  up  that  name  by  a  pun.  "  Ay,"  said  he, 
"  you  may  cry  Bi-men-sial,  but  the  question  is,  whether  Men-shall- 
buy  ?"     A  bad  pun,  in  my  opinion.f 

North.  0  hideous — {aside)  it  is  his  own. 

Tickler.  Abominable — {aside)  evidently  his.  We'll. spoil  his  fishing 
for  compliments. 

Odoherty.  Why,  look  ye,  gentlemen,  I  do  not  think  it  quite  so  bad 
as  that — I  can  tell  you  I  have  heard  worse  at  this  table. 

North.  B.2i\  ha!  ha!  Caught,  Ensign? — Empty  your  glass,  man, 
and  don't  think  to  impose  on  us» 

Odoherty.  Well,  so  be  it.     Any  thing  for  a  quiet  life.     Here  I  have 

*  This  "lump  of  a  quarto  "  was  called  "  Researches  in  the  South  of  Ireland,  illustrative  of 
the  Scenery,  Architectural  Remains,  and  the  Manners  and  Superstitions  of  the  Peasantry.  By 
T.  Crofton  Croker."  It  was  reviewed  more  than  once,  with  high  commendation,  in  BlacTc- 
■wooci,  who  said  it  "consists  in  [of?]  dissertations  on  the  civil  and  ecclesiastical  history  ;  the 
scenery  ;  the  architectural  antiquities  ;  the  romantic  superstitions  ;  and  the  literature  of  Ire- 
land, connected  by  a  slender  thread  of  personal  adventure,  in  a  tour  through  the  southern 
counties,  in  company  with  Miss  Nicholson  and  Mr.  Alfred  Nicholson,  whose  illustrations  in- 
crease the  beauty  and  value  of  the  work."  The  lady  here  mentioned  afterwards  became  Mrs. 
Croker. — M. 

t  It  is  foolish  to  give  a  book  a  name  which  can  be  punned  upon.  Thus,  even  before  No.  1 
was  published,  a  projected  and  since  popular  periodical  was  spoken  of  as  Bentley's  Miss-sell- 
any.  That,  by  the  way,  was  originaly  announced  as  "  The  Wits'  Miscellany,"  but  finally  ap- 
peared as  "Bentley's  Miscellany."  Hood  said,  when  he  heard  that  the  first  name  was  abandoned, 
as  too  ambitious,  "  That  may  be  a  reason  for  not  calling  it  the  WiW  Miscellany,  but,  my  dear 
Bentley,  why  rtm  into  the,  opposite  extreme .?"— M. 


1824.]  shee's  alasco.  395 

brought  you  Mr.  Gleig's  pamphlet  about  the  Missionaries.  I  assure 
you  few  things  have  made  more  noise  about  town.  'Tis  really  a  pithy 
performance — devilish  well  written  too — a  rising  sprig  of  the  Mitre 
this,  sirs. 

Tickler.  Just  the  thing  I  was  wanting  to  see — I  saw  it  quoted  in  the 
John  Bull.  Such  authors  are  much  wanted  now-a-days.  Any  thing 
else,  Ensign  ? 

Odoherty.  Why,  here's  the  new  comedy,  too — spick  and  span. 

North.  "  Pride  shall  have  a  Fall."     Whose  is  it  ? 

Odoherty.  Moore's — ^Luttrell's—Groly's— Jones's— Rogers's— Soane's. 
All  of  which  names  I  saw  in  print.* 

Tickler.  But  which  is  right  ? 

Odoherty.  Never  dispute  with  the  newspapers — all  must  be  right. 
I  only  think  it  proper  to  mention  that  Soane  is  given  on  the  authority 
of  the  Old  Times. 

Tickler.  A  lie,  of  course.  Nothing  more  is  needed  to  prove  that  it 
is  not  Soane.     How  did  it  run  % 

Odoherty.  Like  Lord  Powerscourt's  waterfall — full  and  fast.  It  is 
the  most  successful  comedy  since  John  Bull. 

North.  I  shall  read  it  in  the  morning.  It  seems  to  be  elegantly 
written. 

Odoherty.  Very  elegantly  indeed — and  the  music  is  beautiful.  '  Al- 
together it  acts  right  well.     You  have  heard  of  Shee's  Alasco  ? 

North.  How  George  Colman  suppressed  it  ? 

Odoherty.  Yes,  and  on  what  grounds  ? 

North.  Something  political,  I  understand;  but  I  do  not  know 
exactly  what. 

Odoherty.  Nor  I  very  exactly ; — but  it  is  understood  that  the  hero 
(to  be  enacted  by  Charles  Kemble)  was  a  Liberal. 

Tickler.  That  is,  a  ruffian  "  nulla  virtute  redemptus^ 

Odoherty.  Exactly,  and  Shee,  with  no  other  meaning  than  to  write 
dramatically — for  Shee  is  a  worthy  and  right-minded  fellowf — gave 
this  lad  all  the  roaring,  rumfustian,  upper  gallery,  clap-trap,  hullabal- 
loos  about  liberty,  emancipation,  the  cause  of  freedom  all  over  the 

*  It  -was  •written  by  the  Rev.  George  Croly,  and  was  performed  in  London  (at  Covent 
Garden  Theatre)  with  great  success,  partly  owing  to  the  merit  of  the  comedy ;  partly  to  its 
being  written  to  illustrate  the  airs  and  graces  of  a  fashionable  Cavalry  Regiment,  so  that 
every  line  was  applicable  to  the  10th  Hussars,  who  had  just  made  themselves  the  butt  of  Lon- 
don ;  and  partly  to  Frederick  Yates's  extraordinary  personation  of  Cornet  Count  Carmine. — M, 

t  Martin  Archer  Shee,  who  was  at  once  Poet  and  Painter — a  few  degrees  above  mediocrity 
in  both  professions— published  a  Tragedy  called  "Alasco,"  with  a  preface,  in  which  he  severely 
rated  George  Colman,  the  licenser  of  plays,  for  having  prohibited  its  performance  without  the 
omission  of  certain  lines  which  he  (the  licenser)  thought  unfit  for  publication.  On  the  death 
of  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence,  it  was  intimated  that  George  IV.  would  be  pleased  if  the  Roya} 
Academy  would  elect  Sir  David  Wilkie  to  fill  the  Presidential  chair,  thus  vacated.  The  Acade- 
micians, indignant  at  the  idea  of  being  dictated  to,  almost  unanimously  elected  Shee,  who  was 
knighted,  as  a  matter  of  course, -on  the  occasion.  The  Presidents,  since  the  formation  of  the 
Royal  Academy,  in  1768,  have  been  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  Mr.  West,  Sir  Thomas  LaTrrence, 
Sir  Martin  Shee,  and  Sir  Charles  Eastlake.    This  last  was  elected  on  Shee's  death,  in  1850. — M, 


396  NOCTES   AMBEOSIAIJ^.  [Mauch, 

world,  and  tlie  other  fine  things,  on  which  the  Breeches-maker's 
Review 

JVorth.  What  review,  do  you  say  ? 

Odoherty.  The  Westminster — but  as  Place,  the  snip  of  Charing- 
Cross,  is  the  great  authority  in  it,  it  is  never  called  any  thing  in 
London  but  the  Breeches-maker's  Review.  However,  as  I  was  saying, 
the  efiective  part,  acted  by  the  effective  actor,  was  this  sort  of  gun- 
powder stuff,  while  the  antagonizing  principle,  as  his  holiness  Bishop 
Coleridge  would  say,  was  a  fellow  as  humdrum  as  one  of  the  pluck- 
less  Prosers  of  the  Modern  Athens,  and  to  be  performed  by  one  Cooper 
or  Carpenter.  So  the  Benthamism  had  it  all  to  itself — and  in  English 
too,  a  language  which  Jerry,  you  know,  does  not  understand;  and 
therefore  cannot  corrupt  the  nation  by  scribbling  in  it. 

Tickler.  If  such  be  the  case,  Colman  was  quite  right ;  though,  after 
all,  the  country  is  so  well  disposed,  that  it  might  have  been  left  to  the 
decision  of  the  House. 

North.  Which  would,  I  think,  in  the  present  temper  of  the  people, 
have  damned  any  thing  Jacobinical  or  verging  thereto. 

Odoherty.  Ay,  ay,  countryman  O'Connell,  with  grief,  is  obliged  to 
confess,  that  "  Toryism  is  triumphant."  Fill  your  glasses — Here's  long 
may  it  so  continue ! 

North,  and  Tickler.  Amen,  amen. 

Odoherty.  Any  news  in  Edinburgh  ? 

North.  Order  up  supper  immediately.  News  in  Edinburgh !  Bleaa 
your  heart,  when  had  we  news  here  ? 

Tickler.  The  old  affair — Listen  and  you  shall  hear  how  it  has  gone, 
goeth,  and  shall  go  at  Ambrose's.     {Sings.) 

1. 

Ye  sons  of  the  platter  give  ear, 

Venter  hahet  aures,  they  say, 
The  praise  of  good  eating  to  hear. 

You'll  never  be  out  of  the  way ; 
But  with  knives  sharp  as  razors,  and  stomachs  as  keen, 

Stand  ready  to  cut  through  the  fat  and  the  lean — 
Through  the  fat  and  the  lean — 
Sit  ready  to  cut  through  the  fat  and  the  lean. 

2. 

The  science  of  eating  is  old. 

Its  antiquity  no  man  can  doubt : 
Though  Adam  was  squeamish,  we're  told, 

Eve  soon  found  a  dainty  bit  out ; 
Then  with  knives  sharp  as  razors  and  stomachs  as  keen, 
Our  passage  let's  cut  through  the  fat  and  the  lean — 

&o.  &G. 


1824.]  THE   PHEENOLOGISTS.  397 

3. 

Through  the  world  from  the  West  to  the  East, 

Whether  City,  or  Country,  or  Court, 
There's  no  honest  man,  Laic  or  Priest, 

But  with  pleasure  partakes  in  the  sport, 
And  with  knife  sharp  as  razor,  and  stomach  as  keen, 
His  passage  doth  cut  through  the  fat  and  the  lean — 

&c.  &c. 


They  may  talk  of  their  roast  and  their  boiled, 

They  may  talk  of  their  stew  and  their  fry, 
I  am  gentle  simplicity's  child. 

And  I  dote  on  a  West  Riding  pie. 
While  with  knife  sharp  as  razor  and  stomach  as  keen, 
I  splash  through  the  crust  to  the  fat  and  the  lean — 
To  the  fat  and  the  lean, 

&G.  &Q. 

5. 

Let  the  Whigs  have  sour  bannocks  to  chew, 

And  their  dishwater  namesake  to  swill; 
But,  dear  boys,  let  the  wet  ruby  flow 

For  the  comfort  of  Torydom  still. 
Be  our  dishes  like  mountains,  our  bumpers  like  seas, 
Be  the  fatness  with  us,  and  the  leanness  with  these — 

cfcc.  &c. 

North.  I  like  to  hear  you  talk  of  leanness ! — "Well,  well,  after  all, 
wbat  an  infernal  bump  of  gluttony  you  must  sport,  Timotheus  ! — and 
you  too,  Odoherty.  You  are  not  aware,  that  the  infernal  idiots  have 
got  you  into  their  hands. 

Odoherty.  The  infernal  idiots — who  are  they  ? — Oh,  the  Phrenolo- 
gists !     How  have  the  asses  got  me  ? 

North.  It  appears  that  you  were  lying  on  your  old  bencb  in 
the  watch-house,  after  an  evening's  carouse  here,  when  a  party  of 
Craniologists  were  committed  for  exercising  the  Organ  of  Destruc- 
tiveness  on  the  windows  of  somebody,  whom  they  wanted  to  convince 
of  the  truth  of  the  theory — and  one  of  them  took  a  cast  of  your 
head. 

Odoherty.  The  devil  he  did ! — "What  did  he  find  there  ? 

North.  Imprimis,  one  huge  bump  on  the  top  of  the  forehead,  de- 
noting extraordinary  piety. 

Odoherty.  What,  this  bump  here  ? — Piety  with  a  vengeance  ! — To 
be  sure  I  went  on  my  knees  immediately  after  getting  it — for  it  is  the 
mark  of  a  rap  of  a  shillela  which  I  got  in  the  days  of  my  youth  from 
Cornelius  O'Callaghan,  in  a  row  at  Ballyhooly.  What  else  am  I, 
besides  being  pious  ? 


398  NOCTTES   AMBEOSIAN^.  [March, 

North.  Oh,  I  forgot  the  entire — but  it  is  to  aj^pear  m  the  next  vol- 
ume of  their  transactions. 

Tickler.  They  found  the  organ  of  punch-drinking  very  large,  which 
tends,  more  than  any  other  fact  I  have  heard,  to  prove  the  truth  of 
their  wise  science. 

Odoherty.  Where  did  they  find  it,  pray  ? 

Tickler.  Somewhere  above  your  eyebrow. 

Odoherty.  Oh !  the  asses — if  they  found  it  somewhere  under  my 
gullet,  they  would  be  nearer  the  mark.  But  come,  here  they  go ! — 
[Sinys.) 

1. 

Of  all  the  asses  in  the  town 
.      None's  like  the  Phreno-logers, — 
They  sport  a  braver  length  of  ears 

Than  all  the  other  codgers. 
There's  not  a  jackass  in  the  land* 

Can  bray  so  true  and  sweetly, 
Nor  prove  a  turnip  is  a  head 

As  wise  as  theirs  completely. 

2. 

'Tis  they  who  write  in  learned  words, 

By  no  means  long  or  braggart ; 
'Tis  they  who  proved  no  saint  e'er  hved 

If  none  was  Davie  Haggart. 
For  Davie  is  a  favorite  name 

Among  our  northern  witches ; — 
'Twas  David  Welsh  who  made  the  club, 

Along  with  David  Breeches. 

I  meant  to  say  Bridges,  but  I  could  not  think  of  a  rhyme. 
Davie,*  who  is  an  excellent  fellow  in  all  other  respects,  is  turned 
phrenologer,  and  has  an  interesting  paper  on  a  young  thief  of  his 
acquaintance,  in  the  Idiot  ^Transactions,  which  is  quite  edifying  to 
read. 

8. 

They  prove  that  Chalmers'  pate  acrossf 

Is  half  a  foot  and  over ; 
Whereas  in  Joseph  Hume,  M.  P., 

An  inch  less  they  discover  ; 
And  therefore  they  declare  the  one 

A  most  poetic  prancer, 
While  Joseph  they  pronounced  to  be 

No. mighty  necromancer. 

*  David  Bridges  of  Edinburgh,  clothier,  had  a  fine  collection  of  paintings  and  Sketches,  and 
•was  Secretary  to  the  Dilettanti  Society. — M. 
+  See  Combe's  Letter  to  Dr.  Barclay.— C.  N. 


1824.]  tickler's   SONG.  399 


But  Hume,  you  needna  fash  your  thumb, 

JSTor  stint  your*  smuggled  bottle ; — 
Still. prove  in  style  that  three  and  three 

Make  up  fifteen  in  tottlfe. 
For  ev'n  if  what  these  wooden  pates 

Have  tried  to  prove  were  swallow'd, 
Yet  if  it  be  a  narrow  skull, 

Your  head's  a  perfect  solid. 

5. 

They  proved  from  "Whig  Jack  Thurtell's  head, 

That  he  was  kind  and  gentle  ; 
And  though  too  fond  of  cutting  throats, 

Yet  still  he  never  meant  ill. 
And  now  the  seven-and-eighty  wit's, f 

To  all  our  satisfactions. 
Have  shown  it  takes  no  brains  to  print 

A  volume  of  transactions. 

Shall  I  go  on  ? 

North.  No — -no — let  the  turnip-tops  rot  in  quiet. 

The  Doncaster  mayor,  he  sits  in  his  chair — 

His  mills  they  merrily  go — 
His  nose  it  does  shine  with  Oporto  wine, 

And  the  gout  is  in  his  great  toe. 

And  so  it  is  in  mine  too.  Oh  !  oh !  O  dear !  what  a  cough  I  have  ! 
heigh,  heigh,  heigh  !  Come  now.  Tickler,  one  stave  from  your  old 
mouse-trap,  to  conclude  the  ante-ccenal  part  of  our  symposium,  for  I 
hear  the  dishes  rattling  below. 

Tickler  {sings  a  la  Matthews). 

Young  Roger  came  tapping  at  Dolly's  window — 

Thumpaty,  thumpaty,  thump ; 
He  begg'd  for  admittance — she  answered  him  no — 

Glumpaty,  glumpaty,  glump. 
1^0,  no,  Roger,  no — as  you  came  ye  may  go — 

Stumpaty,  stumpaty,  stump. 
O  what  is  the  reason,  dear  Dolly,  he  cried — 

Humpaty,  humpaty,  hump — 
That  thus  I'm  cast  off,  and  unkindly  denied  ? — 

Trumpaty,  trumpaty,  trump — 
Some  rival  more  dear,  I  guess,  has  been  here — 

Crmnpaty,  crumpaty,  crump. 

*  Vide  Hume's  Speech  of  the  12th  inst.— C.  N. 

t  The  number  of  prenologists  in  the  club  in  Edinburgh. — C.  N. 


400  NOCTES  AMBKOSIAN^.  [March,  1824 

Suppose  there's  been  two,  sir,  pray  what's  that  to  you,  sir  ? — 

Numpaty,  numpaty,  nump. 
"Wi'  a  disconsolate  look,  his  sad  farewell  he  took — 

Frumpaty,  frumpaty,  frump — 
And  all  in  despair  junqyd  into  a  brook — 

Jumpaty,  jumpaty,  jump ; 
His  courage  did  cool  in  a  filthy  green  pool — 

Slumpaty,  slumpaty,  slump — '■ 
So  he  swam  to  the  shore,  but  saw  Dolly  no  more — 

Dumpaty,  dumpaty,  dump — 
He  did.  speedily  find  one  more  fat  and  more  kind — 

Plumpaty,  plumpaty,  plump — 
But  poor  Dolly's  afraid  she  must  die  an  old  maid — 

Mumpaty,  mumpaty,  mump. 

Enter  Ambrose  with  his  tail  on.     {Left  eating.) 


401 


I  No.  XIV.— APRIL,  1824. 

SCENE  1— Sky-Blue  Parlor. 
Mr.  North,  the  Ettrick  Shepherd,  and  Mr.  Ambrose. 

North.  Just  so — ^just  so,  Mr.  Ambrose.  No  man  sets  a  cushion 
with  more  gentle  dexterity.  As.  my  heel  sinks  into  the  velvet,  my  toe 
forgets  to  twinge.  Now,  my  dear  St.  Ambrosio,  for  Veau  r}iedicinal ! 
[Mr,  Ambrose  communicates  a  nutshell  of  Glenlivet^  and  exit.)  Now, 
my  dear  Shepherd,  let  us  have  a  "  twa-handed  crack." 

The  Shepherd.  What's  the  gout  like,*  Mr.  North,  sir?  Is't  like 
the  stang  o'  a  skep-bee  ?  or  a  toothacky  stoun  ?  or  a  gumboil,  when 
you  touch't  wi'  het  parritch  ?  or  a  whitlow  on  ane's  nose,  thrab  thrab- 
bing  a'  the  night  through  ?  or  is't  liker,  in  its  ain  way,  till  what  ane 
drees  after  thretty  miles  o'  a  hard-trotting,  barebacked  beast,  wi'  thin 
breeks  on  ane's  hurdles  ? 

North.  Gentle  Shepherd,  "  Where  ignorance  is  bliss,  'tis  folly  to 
be  wise." 

The  Shepherd.  I'se  warrant  now,  sir,  that  your  big  tae's  as  red  as 
a  rose  in  June. 

North.  There  spoke  the  poet — the  author  of  the  Queen's  Wake. 
Mr.  Hogg,  I  am  happy  to  know  that  you  are  about  to  give  us  a  new 
poem.  Queen  Hynde.     Is  it  very  fine  ? 

The  Shepherd.  Faith,  I'm  thinking  it's  no  muckle  amiss.  I've  had 
great  pleasure  aye  in  the  writing  o't.  The  words  came  out,  helter 
skelter,  ane  after  the  other,  head  to  doup,  like  bees  frae  a  hive  on  the 
first  glimpse  o'  a  sunny  summer  morn. 

North.  Again  !     Why,  that  is  poetry,  Mr.  Hogg. 

The  Shepherd.  Fie  shame!  That's  just  what  Mr.  JafFray  said  to 
Coleridge,  when  walking  in  the  wud  wi'  him  at  Keswick.  And  yet 
what  does  he  do  a  towmont  or  twa  after,  but  abuse  him  and  his  genius 
baith,  like  ony  tinkler,  in  the  Embro'  Review.  I  canna  say,  Mr.  North, 
that  I  hate  flattery,  but,  oh  man !  I  fear't,  and  at  the  very  time  I  swal- 
low't,  I  keep  an  e'e  on  the  tyke  that  administers  the  cordial. 

*  The  Frenchman's  idea  of  the  difference  between  gout  and  rheumatism  -would  answer  this 
query  : — "  You  puts  your  fingeres  in  a  vice  and  somebody  does  squeeze,  squeeze,  beyond  what 
man  can  bear,  dat  is  ae  rumateeze :  you  get  doo  or  dree  squeeze  more,  and  dat  is  ze  gout."— M^ 


402 


NOCTES   AMBEOSIAIT^. 


[April, 


North.  Queen  Hynde  will  do,  James.  Tales,  tales,  tales,  eternal 
prose  tales — out  with  a  poem,  James.     Your  prose  tales  are  but 

TTie  Shepherd.  Wtiat  kind  o'  a  pronunciation  is  that,  man  ? 

North.  I  seldom  write  verses  myself,  now-a-days,  James,- but  as  I 
have  not  bothered  you  much  lately  by  spouting  MSS.  as  I  used  to  do 
long  ago,  pray,  be  so  kind  as  to  listen  to  me  for  a  few  stanzas. 

1. 
Hail,  glorious  dawning  1  hail,  auspicious  morn  I 

April  the  first  !  grand  festival,  all  hail ! 
My  soaring  Muse  on  goosequill  pinion  borne, 

From  tliat  wide  limbo,  sung  in  Milton's  tale, 
Hastens  to  pay  thee  love  and  reverence  due, 

For  thou  to  me  a  day  most  sacred  art ; 
And  I  shall  call  around  a  jovial  crew, 

Who  love  and  worship  thee  with  single  heart. 
Come,  crown'd  in  foolscap,  rolling  forth  this  lay. 
Hail,  mighty  mother,  hail ! — hail,  glorious  All  Fools'  day  I 

2. 
Which  of  you  first  shall  press  to  show  your  love — 

To  vail  your  bonnet  to  your  patron  saint  ?    . 
I  see  you  hasten  from  the  earth  above, 

And  sea  below,  to  pay  your  service  quaint ; 
White,  black  and  gray,  in  every  livery  decked. 

The  stay-laced  dandy,  and  the  Belchered  blood, 
The  grave  divine  of  many  a  jangling  sect — '■ 

Lawyers  and  doctors,  and  the  critic  brood. 
All  singing  out  in  concert,  grave  or  gay, 
Hail,  mighty  mother,  hail! — hail,  glorious  All  Fools*  day  I 

3. 

March  in  the  foremost  rank — 'tis  yours  by  right — 

March,  grenadiers  of  folly — march,  my  Whigs — 
Hoist  the  old  tattered  standard  to  the  light, 

Grunting  in  chorus  like  Will  Cobbett's  pigs. 
George  Tierny  holds  it  with  unsteady  paw. 

Looking  right  hungry  on  the  golden  hill 
Of  Place  and  Power,  from  which  his  ravening  maw 

Hopes  vainly  for  vittal  its  chinks  to  fill. 
Dupe  to  himself  he  growls,  but  loud  must  say. 
Hail,  mighty  mother,  hail! — hail,  glorious  All  Fools'  day! 

4, 
Brougham,  in  a  hated  gown  of  stuff,*  attends. 
His  nose  up-twitching  like  the  devil's  tail. 

*  Up  to  this  time,  aUhough  fully  entitled  to  it  by  his  standing  at  the  bar,  as  well  as  high  re- 
pute and  large  practice  as  a  lawyer,  the  distinction  of  being  made  a  King's  Counsel  (which 
entitles  the  holder  to  peculiar  precedence  at  the  bar)  had  been  withheld  from  Brougham,  by 
Lord  Chancellor  Eldon,  because  of  the  truly  courageous  and  independent  manner  in  which 
Brougham  had  defended  Queen  Caroline,  in  1820-1.  Ordinary  (that  is  outer  or  utter)  barris- 
ters wear  black  stuff  gowns,  and  sit  outside  the  bar  in  English  courts  of  law.  Queen's  Coun- 
sel and  persons  holding  patents  of  precedency  sit  toithin  the  bar  and  wear  silken  gowns. — M, 


1824] 


ALL  FOOLS     DAT.  403 

There  Aberdeen  her  learnit  Ractor  sends, 

Joseph,  at  whom  great  Cocker's  self  turns  pale ; 

There's  Scarlett  Redivivus,  whom  the  band 
Of  bloody  gemmen  of  the  press  had  slain, 

And  Wilson  (once  Sir  Robert)  hand  in  hand 
With  JSTugent  lading  of  the  Falmouth  Wain, 

Joining  right  loudly  in  the  grand  huzza. 

Hail,  mighty  mother,  hail! — hail,  glorious  All  Fools'  day! 

5. 
Wise  Hutchinson,  and  Wiser  Peter  Moore, 

Great  Holland,  redolent  of  female  fist ; 
Sir  James,  the  faithful  treasurer  of  the  poor, 

Mick  Taylor,  lord  of  cutlets  and  gin-twist  ;* 
Frothy  Grey  Bennet,  patron  of  the  press. 

Whose  freedom  is  their  toast  in  bumpers  full, 
And  which  they  show,  by  crowding  to  caress 

Fudge  Tommy  Moore,  and  actioning  John  Bull. 
Shout,  my  old  Coke  1 — ^shout,  Albemarle ! — shout,  Grey ! 
Hail,  mighty  mother,  hail ! — ^hail,  glorious  All  Fools'  day  I 


Apt  are  the  emblems  which  the  party  shows — 

Here's  "  Great  Napoleon,  victor  over  Spain," 
And  "  Wellington  of  war  no  science  knows," 

And  "  Angouleme  has  touched  his  hilt  in  vain," 
And  "  We  must  perish  if  the  gold's  withdrawn," 

A.nd  "  We  must  perish  if  the  gold  is  paid," 
And  "  Chaste  art  thou,  O  Queen  !  as  snow  ere  dawn," 
,  And  "  Princess  Olivef  is  an  injured  maid ;" 

But  shining  over  all,  in  alt  still  say. 
Hail,  mighty  mother,  hail ! — ^hail,  glorious  All  Fools'  day  1 

Close  by  their  tails  see  Jeff's  reviewers  sneak 

In  buff  and  blue,  an  antiquated  gang ; 
Jeffrey  himself  with  penny-trumpet  squeak. 

Chimes  with  Jackpudding  Sydney's  jews-harp  twang; 
Hallam  is  there  with  blood  of  Pindar  wet, 

And  there  Macculloch  bellows,  gallant  stot, 

*  Michael  Angelo  Taylor  was  a  member  of  Parliament,  wealthy,  and  with  his  residence  very 
near  the  then  St.  Stephen's  Chapel,  in  which  the  Commons  used  to  sit.  From  4  o'clocli  every 
day,  until  12  at  night,  Taylor  kept  open  house  for  such  members  of  the  Opposition  as  pleased 
to  "  eat,  drinli,  and  be  merry."  On  one  occasion,  when  Lord  Durham  (then  Mr.  Lambton)  had 
brought  in  a  bill — either  for  Catholic  Emancipation  or  Parliamentary  Reform — most  of  the 
Opposition  had  retired  to  take  refreshments,  at  Taylor's,  during  Lambton's  speech,  and  a 
•tough  debate  and  strong  struggle  was  ;  expected  the  Government  declined  making  a  speech  in 
reply,  forcing  on  a  division,  before  the  other  party  could  be  collected  from  Taylor's  "  cutlets 
and  gin-twist,"  and  negatived  the  question,  for  that  session,  by  a  sudden  vote.  This  trick 
was  much  complained  of,  by  the  Liberals,  for  along  time. — M. 

t  Mrs.  Olive  Sevres  claimed  to  be  the  legitimatcdaughter  of  Henry  Frederick,  Duke  of  Cum- 
berland, (brother  to  George  III.,)  by  a  marriage  with  Miss  Wilmot.  She  assumed  the  rank  and 
title  of  Princess  Olive  of  Cumberland,  and  had  her  case  brought  before  Parliament,  where  her 
claims  were  not  recognised.  This  was  in  1822,  and  most  of  her  remaining  years  were  spent 
Within  the  rules  of  a  prison,  for  debt.    She  died  in  1834.— M. 


4:04:  N0CTE8   AMBROSIAN^.  [April, 

And  Christian  Leslie,  to  whom  is  set 

A  bust  of  stone  in  Stockbridge  shady  grot. 
In  puppy  chorus  yelps  the  full  array, 
Hail,  mighty  mother,  hail ! — hail,  glorious  All  Fools'  day  I 

8. 

Still  impudent  their  gestures — still  their  mien 

Swaggers  beneath  the  load  of  self-conceit ; 
Yet  all  in  spite  of  vanity  is  seen 

Graven  on  each  brow  disorder  and  defeat ; 
Still  Byron's  canister,  too  deftly  tied, 

Rings  "  kling-ling-ling,"  bedraggling  at  their  tail ! 
Still  North's  stout  cowhide,  to  each  back  applied. 

Makes  even  the  stoutest  of  the  crew  to  quail ; 
Yet  boldly  still  they  cry  with  brave  hurra — 
Hail,  mighty  mother,  hail! — hail,  glorious  All  Fools'  day! 

9. 
Whom  have  we  next  ? — I  note  the  gesture  trim, 

The  throat  unkerchiefed,  and  the  jaunty  air. 
The  yellow  silk  that  wraps  the  nether  limb. 

And  all  the  singing  robes  that  poets  wear — 
Hail,  Bohea-bibbing  monarch  of  Cockaigne ! 

Who  is  more  fit  than  thou  to  join  the  song 
Of  glory  to  Tom-foolery,  the  strain 

Thou  and  thy  subject  tribes  have  trolled  so  long  ? 
Shout  o'er  thy  bumpered  dish,  hip  !  hip !  hurra  ! 
Hail,  mighty  mother,  hail ! — hail,  glorious  All  Fools'  day! 

10. 
For  the  remainder  of  this  rabble  rout, 

Their  names  I  know  not,  nor  desire  to  know. 
For  aught  I  care,  each  long-eared  lubber  lout 

May  march  to  Orcus  on  fantastic  toe, 
Save  Barry  Cornwall,  milk-and-water  bard, 

Lord  of  the  fiunky  clad  in  livery  green ! 
To  send  so  sweet  a  poet  'twere  too  hard. 

To  the  chaise-percee  of  old  Pluto's  queen. 
No,  here  as  Cockney-Laureate  let  him  stay, 
Singing,  hail,  mother,  hail! — ^hail,  glorious  All  Fools'  day! 

11. 
Make  way,  make  way,  in  plenitude  of  paimch, 

See  London's  learned  livery  waddling  on. 
Lord  Waithman  heads  the  rumpled  avalanche,* 

Tailed  by  Teautamen's  hero — Whittington ! 
Oh,  Huckaback  the  Great,  alike  sublime 

In  measuring  speech  or  igingham  by  the  ell, 

*  Alderman  Waithman,  who  was  a  strong  Liberal,  carried  on  the  business  of  a  linen-draper 
in  the  premises,  corner  of  Fleet-street  and  Bridge-street,  Blackfriars,  now  partly  occupied  by 
the  Simday  Times  newspaper  office.  He  filled  the  office  of  Lord  Mayor,  and  was  elected  four 
times  to  represent  the  city  of  London  in  Parliament.  After  his  death,  his  friends  erected  an 
obelisk,  in  his  honor,  opposite  that  raised  in  commemoration  of  John  Wilkes,  at  the*  foot  of 
Ludgate  Hill,  and  within  view  of  the  place  where  he  long  had  kept  a  shop.— M. 


1824.]  TOWN   AND   COUNTRY.  405 

"Worthy  alike  of  poet's  lofty  rhyme, 

The  stuff  you  utter,  and  the  stuff  you  sell ! 
Sing  with  that  voice  which  can  e'en  kings  dismay, 
Hail,  mighty  mother,  hail ! — hail,  April  All  Fools'  day ! 

The  Shephed.  That'll  do — Ohe!  jam  satis.  I  ken  naething  about 
tae  half  o'  the  chiels,  and  the  little  I  do  ken  about  the  lave  is  na  worth 
kenning.  Bnt  the  verses  sound  weel,  and  seem  fu'  o'  satire.  They'll 
no  be  popular,  though,  about  Ettrick. 

North.  I  must  occasionally  consult  the  taste  of  the  people  in  Lon- 
don, and  the  neighboring  villages.  They  are  fond  of  their  little  local 
jeers,  and  attach  mighty  importance  to  men  and  things,  that  in  the 
Forest,  James,  are  considered  in  the  light  of  their  own  native  insignifi- 
cance. 

The  Shepherd.  That's  God's  truth !  In  London  you'll  hear  a  soun', 
like  laigh  thunder,  frae  a  million  voices,  growl-growling  on  ae  subject, 
for  aiblins  a  week  thegither ;  a'  else  is  clean  forgotten,  and  the  fate  o' 
the  world  seems  to  hang  on  the  matter  in  han' ; — but  just  wait  you  till 
the  tips  o'  the  horns  o'  the  new  moon  hae  sprouted,  and  the  puir  silly 
craturs  recollec'  naething  ava',  either  o'  their  ain  fear,  or  their  ain  folly, 
and  are  aff  on  anither  scent,  as  idle  and  thochtless  as  before.  In  the 
kintra,  we  are  o'  a  wiser,  and  doucer,  and  dourer  nature ;  we  fasten 
our  feelings  rather  on  the  durable  hills,  than  on  the  fleeting  cluds ;  to- 
morrow kens  ..something  about  yesterday,  and  the  fifty-twa  weeks  in 
the  year  dinna  march  by  like  isolated  individuals  ;  but  like  a  company 
strongly  mustered,  and  on  an  expedition  or  enterprise  o'pith  and  moment. 

North.  So  with  books.  In  a  city  they  are  read — flung  aside — and 
forgotten  like  the  dead. 

The  Shepherd.  In  the  pure  air  o'  the  kintra,  beuks  hae  an  immortal 
life.  I  hae  nae  great  leebrary — feck  o't  consists  o'  twenty  volumes  o' 
my  ain  writing ;  but,  oh !  man,  it  is  sweet  to  sit  down,  on  a  calm  sim- 
mer evening,  on  a  bit  knowe,  by  the  lochside,  and  let  ane's  mind  gang 
daundering  awa  down  the  pages  o'  some  volume  o'  genius,  creating 
thochts  alang  with  the  author,  till,  at  last,  you  dinna  weel  ken  whilk 
o'  you  made  the  beuk.  That's  just  the  way  I  aften  read  your  Maga- 
zine, till  I  could  believe  that  I  hae  written  every  article — Noctes  and  a'. 

North.  How  did  the  Border  games  go  off  this  Spring  Meeting, 
Shepherd  ? 

The  Shepherd.  The  loupin'  was  gude,  and  the  rinnin'  was  better, 
and  the  ba'  was  best.     Oh,  man !  that  ye  had  but  been  there  ! 

North.  What  were  the  prizes  ? 

The  Shepherd.  Bunnets.  Blue  bunnets — I  hae  ane  o'  them  in  my 
pouch,  that  wasna  gien  awa'.     There — try  it  on. 

{The  Shepherd  puts  the  blue  bonnet  on  Mr.  Norths  head) 

North.  I  have  seen  the  day,  James,  when  I  could  have  leaped  any 
man  in  Ettrick. 


406  NOCTES   AMBEOSIAN^. 


[April, 


The  Shepherd.  A'  but  ane.  The  Flying  Tailor  would  hae  been 
your  match  ony  day.  But  there's  no  denying  you  used  to  take  awfu' 
spangs.  Grude  safe  us,  on  springy  meadow  grun,  rather  on  the  decline, 
you  were  a  verra  grasshopper.  But,  wae's  me — the  crutches  ?  Eheu  ! 
fugaces,  Posthume^  Fosthume,  lahuntur  anni  ! 

JSForth.  Why,  even  yet,  James,  if  it  were  not  for  this  infernal  gout 
here,  I  could  leap  any  man  living,  at  hop,  step,  and  jump 

The  Shepherd.  Hech,  sirs ! — hech,  sirs  !  but  the  human  mind's  a 
strange  thing,  after  a' !  Here's  you,  Mr.  North,  the  cleverest  man,  I'll 
say't  to  yom-  face,  noo  extant,  a  scholar  and  a  feelosopher,  vauntin'  o' 
your  loupin' !  That's  a  great  weakness.  You  should  be  thinkin'  o' 
ither  things,  Mr.  North.  But  a'  you  grit  men  are  perfet  fules  either 
in  ae  thing  or  anither. 

North.  Come,  James,  my  dear  Hogg,  draw  your  chair  a  little  closer. 
We  are  a  set  of  strange  devils,  I  acknowledge,  we  human  beings. 

The  Shepherd.  Only  luk  at  the  maist  celebrated  o'  us.  There's 
Byron,  braggin'  o'  his  soomin',  just  like  yourself  o'  your  loupin'.  He 
informs  us  that  he  swom  through  the  streets  of  Venice,  that  are  a' 
canals,  you  ken — nae  very  decent  proceeding — and  keepit  ploutering 
on  the  druraly  waves  for  four  hours  and  a  half,  like  a  wild  guse,  diving, 
too,  I'se  waiTant,  wi'  his  tail,  and  treading  water,  and  lying  oh  the  back 
o'  him — wha'  the  deevil  cares  ? 

North.  His  lordship  was,  after  all,  but  a  sorry  Leander  ? 

The  Shepherd.  You  may  say  that.  To  have  been  like  Lander,  he 
should  hae  swom  the  Strechts  in  a  storm,  and  in  black  midnight, 
and  a'  by  himself,  without  boats  and  gondolas  to  pick  him  up  gin  he 
tuk  the  cramp,  and .  had  a  bonnie  lass  to  dicht  him  dry, — and  been 
drown'd  at  last — but  that  he'll  never  be.     ' 

North.  You  are  too  satirical,  Hogg. 

The  Shepherd.  And  there's  Tammas  Mure  braggin'  after  anither 
fashion  o'  his  exploits  amang  the  lasses.  O  man,  dinna  you  think  it 
rather  contemptible,  to  sit  in  a  cotch  wi'  a  bonnie  thochtless  lassie, 
for  twa  three  lang  stages,  and  then  publish  a  sang  about  it  ?*  I  ance 
heard  a  gran'  leddie  frae  London  lauching  till  Lthocht  she  would  hae 
split  her  sides,  at  Thomas  Little,  as  she  ca'd  him.  I  could  scarcely 
fadom  her^ — but  ye  ken't  by  her  face  what  she  was  thinking, — and  it 
was  a'  quite  right — a  severe  reproof. 

North.  Mr.  Coleridge  ?  Is  he  in  the  habit,  Hogg,  of  making  the 
Public  the  confidants  of  his  personal  accomplishments? 

The  Shepherd.  I  canna  weel  tell,  for  deevil  the  like  o'  sic  books 

*  The  Shepherd  must  here  allude  to  one  of  Moore's  songs,  {not  included  in  the  collective 
edition  of  his  poety,)  which  commences  thus  : — 

"  Sweet  Fanny  of  Timmol !  when  first  I  came  in 

To  the  dear  little  carriage  in  which  you  were  hm-led, 
I  thought  to  myself,  if  it  were  not  a  sin, 
I  could  teach  you  the  prettiest  things  in  the  world." — ^M. 


1824.]  COLERIDGE.  407 

as  his  did  I  ever  see  wi'  my  cen  beneath  the  blessed  licht.  I'm  no 
speakin'  o'  his  Poems — I'll  aye  roose  them — but  the  Freen*  and 
the  Lay  Sermons  are  aneuch  to  drive  ane  to  distraction.  What's 
logic? 

North.  Upon  my  honor  as  a  gentleman,  I  do  not  know ;  if  I  did,  I 
would  tell  you  with  the  greatest  pleasure. 

The  Shepherd.  Weel,  weel,  Coleridge  is  aye  accusing  folk  o'  hae- 
ing  nae  logic.  The  want  o'  a'  things  is  owing  to  the  want  o'  logic, 
it  seems.  Noo,  Mr.  North,  gin  logic  be  soun'  reasoning,  and  I  jalouse 
as  much,  he  has  less  o't  himself  than  ony  body  I  ken,  for  he  never 
sticks  to  the  point  twa  pages  ;  and  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  aye  feel  as 
I  were  fuddled  after  perusing  Coleridge.  Then  he's  aye  speaking  o' 
himsel — but  what  he  says  I  can  never  mak  out.  Let  him  stick  to  his 
poetry,  for,  oh !  man,  he's  an  unyerthly  writer,  and  gies  Superstition 
sae  beautifu'  a  countenance,  that  she  wiles  folk  on  wi'  her,  like  so  many 
bairns,  into  the  flowery  but  fearfu'  wildernesses,  where  sleeping  and 
wauking  seem  a'  ane  thing,  and  the  very  soul  within  us  wonders 
what  has  become  o'  the  every-day  warld,  and  asks  hersel  what  crea- 
tion is  this  that  wavers  and  glimmers,  and  keeps  up  a  bonnie  wild 
musical  sough,  like  that  o'  swarming  bees,  spring-startled  birds,  and 
the  voice  of  a  hundred  streams-j  some  wimpling  awa'  ower  the  Elysian 
meadows,  and  ithers  roaring  at  a  distance  frae  the  clefts  o'  mount 
Abora.     But  is't  true  that  they  hae  made  him  the  Bishop  of  Barba- 


North.  No,  he  is  'only  Dean  of  Highgate.f  I  long  for  his  "  Wan- 
derings of  Cain,"  about  to  be  published  by  Taylor  and  Hessey.|  That 
house  has  given  us  some  excellent  things  of  late.  They  are  spirited 
publishers.  But  why  did  not  Coleridge  speak  to  Blackwood  ?  I  sup- 
pose he  could  not  tell  if  he  were  questioned. 

The  Shepherd.  In  my  opinion,  sir,  the  bishops  o'  the  Wast  Indies 
should  be  blacks. 

North.  i?*rudence,  James,  prudence, — we  are  alone,  to  be  sure,  but 
the  affairs  of  the  West  Indies 

The  Shepherd.  The  bishops  o'  the  Wast  Indies  should  be  blacks. 
Naebody  'It  ever  mak  me  think  itherwise.  Mr.  Wilberforce,  and  Mr. 
Macaulay,§  and  Mr.  Brougham,  and  a'  the  ither  saints,  have  tell't  us 

*  "  The  Friend  "  was  a  weekly  pei-iodical,  edited  by  Coleridge,  which  lived  through  six  months 
or  so,  and  died  from  the  irregularity  of  its  issue,  and  the  very  unbusiness-like  manner  in 
which  it  was  carried  on.  This  was  one  of  the  many  failures  of  S.  T.  C,  (£?  re  ae,  he  liked  to 
write  it,)  and,  De  Quincey  informs  us,  was  chiefly  made  so  by  Coleridge's  use  of  opium. — M. 

t  It  was  one  of  Coleridge's  nephews  who  was  made  Bishop  of  Barbadoes,  which  he  ceased  to 
be,  by  resignation,  in  1842.     Coleridge  resided  at  Highgate,  near  London. — M. 

:{:"  The  Wanderings  of  Cain,"  a  poem  in  prose,  originally  appeared  in  an  Annual,  I  believe, 
and  is  now  included  in  the  Works  of  Coleridge. — M. 

§  William  Wilberforce,  long  the  leader  of  the  Anti-Slavery  party  in  the  House  of  Commons 
He  died  in  1833.  His  son.  Dr.  Samuel  Wilberforce,  is  now  Bishop  of  Oxford. — Zachary  Macaulay 
was  for  forty  years  associated  with  Wilberforce  in  the  British  Anti-Slavery  movement.  He 
died  in  1838,  and  was  the  father  of  Thomas  Babington  Macaulay,  the  poet,  orator,  critic,  and 
historian. — M. 


408  NOCTES  AMBEOSIAN^. 


[April, 


that  blacks  are  equal  to  whites ;  and  gin  that  be  true,  make  bishops 
o'  them — what  for  no  ? 

North.  James,  you  are  a  consistent  poet,  philosopher,  and  philan- 
thropist. Pray,  how  would  you  like  to  marry  a  black  woman  ?  How 
would  Mr.  Wilberforce  like  it  ? 

The  Shepherd.  I  cahna  answer  for  Mr.  Wilberforce  ;  but  as  for  my- 
self, I  scunner  at  the  bare  idea. 

North.  Why,  a  black  skin,  thick  lips,  grizzly  hair,  long  heels,  and 
convex  shins — what  can  be  more  delightful  ? — But  to  be  serious, 
James,  do  you  think  there  is  no  difference  between  black  and  white  ? 

The  Shepherd.  You're  drawing  me  into  an  argument  about  the 
West  Indies,  and  the  neegars.  I  ken  naething  about  it.  I  hate 
slavery  as  an  abstract  idea — but  it's  a  necessary  evil,  and  I  canna  be- 
lieve a'  thae  stories  about  cruelty.  There's  nae  fun  or  amusement  in 
whipping  women  to  death — and  as  for  a  skelp  or  J-wa,  what's  the 
harm  ? — Hand  me  ower  the  rum  and  the  sugar,  sir. 

North.  What  would  Buxton  the  Brewer  say,  if  he  heard  such  sen- 
timents from  'the  author  of  Kilmeny  ?  But  what  were  we  talking 
about  a  little  while  ago  ? 

The  Shepherd.  Never  ask  me  siccan  a  like  question.  Ye  ken  weel 
aneuch  that  I  never  remember  a  single  thing  that  passes  in  conversa- 
tion.    But  may  I  ask  gin  you're  comin'  out  to  the  fishing  this  season  ? 

North.  Apropos.  Look  here,  James.  What  think  you  of  these 
flies  ?  Phin's,  of  course.  Keep  them  a  little  farther  off  your  nose, 
James,  for  they  are  a  dozen  of  de\als,  these  black  heckles.  You  ob- 
serve,— dark  yellow  body — black  half  heckle,  and  wings  of  the  mal- 
lard, a  beautiful  brown — gut  like  gossamer,  and  the  killing  Kirby. 

The  Shepherd.  I'll  just  put  them  into  my  pouch.  But,  first,  let 
me  see  how  they  look  sooming. 

(Draws  out  a  fly  and  trails  it  slowly  along  the  punch  in  his 
tumbler^  which  he  holds  up  to  the  argand  lamp — a  present 
to  Mr.  Ambrose  from  Barry  Cornwall.) 

O  man  !  that's  the  naturallest  thing  ever  I  saw  in  a'  my  born  days. 
I  ken  whare  there's  a  muckle  trout  lying  at  this  very  moment,  below 
the  root  o'  an  auld  birk,  wi'  his  great  snout  up  the  stream,^rawing  in 
slugs  and  ither  animalculas,  into  his  vortex,  and  no  caring  a  whisk  o' 
his  tail  for  fiees ;  but  you'se  hae  this  in  the  tongue  o'  you,  my  braw 
fellow,  before  May-day.  He'll  soqk't  in  saftly,  saftly,  without  showing 
mair  than  the  lip  o'  him,  and  then  I'll  streck  him,  and  down  the  pool 
he'll  gaung,  snoring  like  a  whale,  as  gin  he  were  descending  in  a'  his 
power  to  the  bottomless  pit,  and  then  up  wi'  a  loup  o'  lightning  to 
the  verra  lift,  and  in  again  into  the  water  wi'  a  squash  and  a  plunge, 
like  a  man  gaun  in  to  the  douking,  and  then  out  ae  pool  into  anither, 
like  a  kelpie  gaun  a-coorting,  through  alang  the  furds  and  shallows, 
and  ettling  wi'  a'  his  might  at  the  waterfa'  opposite  Fahope's  house. 


1824.]  HOOKING   HOGG.  409 

Luk  at  him  !  Ink  at  him  !  there  he  glides  like  a  sunbeam  strong  and 
steady,  as  I  give  him  the  butt,  and  thirty  yards  o'  the  pirn — nae  stane 
to  stumble,  and  nae  tree  to  fankle — bonuie  green  hills  shelving  down 
to  my  ain  Yarrow— the  sun  lukin'  out  upon  James  Hogg,  frae  behint 
n  cloud,  and  a  breeze  frae  St.  Mary's  Loch  chanting  a  song  o'  tri- 
umph down  the  vale,  just  as  I  land  him  on  the  gowany  edge  of  that 
grassy-bedded  bay, 

Fair  as  a  star,  when  only  one 
Is  shining  in  the  sky. 

JSTortk.  Shade  of  Isaac  Walton  ! 

The  Shepherd.  I'm  desperate  thirsty — here's  your  health.  Oh, 
Lord  !     What's  this  ?  what's  this  ?  I've  swallowed  the  flee  ! 

North  (starting  up  in  consternation).  Oh,  Lord !  What's  this  ? 
what's  this  ?  I've  trodden  on  a  spike,  and  it  has  gone  up  to  my 
knee-pan  ! — 0  my  toe  !  my  toe  !  But,  James — James — shut  not  your 
mouth — swallow  not  your  swallow — or  you  are  a  dead  man.  There — 
steady — steady — I  have  hold  of  the  gut,  and  I  devoutly  trust  that  the 
hook  is  sticking  in  your  tongue  or  palate.  It  cannot,  must  not  be  in 
your  stomach,  James.     Oh  ! 

The  Shepherd.  Oh  !  for  Liston,*  wi'  his  instruments ! 

North.  Hush — hush — I  see  the  brown  wings. 

Miter  Ambrose. 

Amh'ose.  Here,  here  is  a  silver  spoon — I  am  all  in  a  fluster.  O 
dear,  Mr.  North,  will  this  do  to  keep  dear  Mr.  Hogg's  mouth  open, 
while  you  are 

North.  It  is  the  soup-ladle,  sir.  But  a  sudden  thought  strikes  me. 
Here  is  my  gold  ring.  I  shall  let  it  down  the  line,  and  it  will  disen- 
tangle the  hook.  Don't  swallow  my  crest,  my  dear  Shepherd.  There 
— all's  right — the  black  heckle  is  free,  and  my  dear  poet  none  the 
worse. 

The  Shepherd  {coughing  out  Mr.  North''s  gold  ring).  That  verra 
flee  shall  grip  the  muckle  trout.  Mr.  Ambrose,  quick, — countermand 
Listen.  (Mr.  Ambrose  vanishes.)  I'm  a'  in  a  poor  o'  sweat.  Do  you 
hear  my  heart  beating  ? 

North.  Mrs.  Phin's  tackle  is  so  excellent  that  I  felt  confident  in  the 
result.  Bad  gut,  and  you  were  a  dead  man.  But  let  us  resume  the 
thread  of  our  discourse. 

The  Shepherd.  I  have  a  sore  throat,  and  it  will  not  be  weel  till  we 
soop.  Tak  my  arm,  and  we'se  gang  into  the  banqueting-room.  Hush 
— there's  a  clampering  in  the  trance.     It's  the  rush  o'  critics  frae  the 

*  Robert  Liston,  then  of  Edinburgh,  and  the  beat  operator  there.     He  removed  to  London, 
TT^here  be  established  the  highest  character  as  a  surgeon,  and  died  in  1847.— M. 
VOL.  I.  18 


410  NOCTES   AMBROSIAN^.  [March, 

pit  o'  the  theatre.  They're  coming  for  porter — and  let's  wait  till 
they're  a'  iu  the  tap-room,  or  ither  holes.  In  five  minutes  you'll  hear 
aae  ither  word  than  "  Vandenhoff,"  "Vandenhofi"."* 

North.  The  shower  is  over,  let  us  go ;  and  never,  James,  would  old 
Christopher  North  desire  to  lean  for  support  on  the  arm  of  a  better 
man. 

The  Shepherd.  I  believe  you  noo — for  I  ken  when  you're  serious 
and  when  you're  jokin',  and  that's  mair  than  every  ane  can  say. 

North.  Forgive,  James,  the  testy  humors  of  a  gouty  old  man.  I 
am  your  friend. 

The  Shepherd.  I  ken  that  fu'  brawly.  Do  you  hear  the  sound  o' 
that  fizzing  in  the  pan  ?  Let's  to  our  wark.  But,  North,  say  nothing 
about  the  story  of  the  flee  in  that  wicked  Magazine. 

North.  Mum's  the  word.     Allons. 


SCENE  II. — The  Banqueting-Room. 

Enter  Mr.  North,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  the  Shepherd,  and  Mr. 
Ambrose.     Mr.  Tickler  in  the  shade. 

North.  By  the  palate  of  Apicius  !  What  a  board  of  oysters  ! — Ha, 
Tickler  !     Friend  of  my  soul,  this  goblet  sip,  how  art  thou  ? 

Tickler.  Stewed — foul  from  the  theatre.  Ah,  ha !  Hogg — your 
paw,  James. 

TTie  Shepherd.  How's  a'  wi'  ye  ? — how's  a'  wi'  ye,  Maister  Tick 
ler  ?  Oh,  man,  I  wish  I  had  been  wi'  you.  I'm  desperate  fond  o'  the- 
atricals, and  Vandenhojff's  a  gran'  chiel — a  capital  actor. 

TicJcler.  So  I  hear.  But  the  Vespers  of  Palermo  won't  do  at  all  at 
all ;  so  I  shan't  criticise  any  actor  or  actress  that  strutted  and  spouted 
to-night.  Mrs.  Hemans,  I  am  told,  is  beautiful — and  she  has  a  fine 
feeling  about  many  things.  I  love  Mrs.  Hemans ;  but  .if  Mrs.  He- 
mans  loves  me,  she  will  write  no  more  tragedies.f  My  dear  Chris- 
topher, fair  play's  a  jewel — a  few  oysters,  if  you  please. 

North.  These  "whiskered  Pandours,"  as  Campbell  calls  them  in 
his  Pleasures  of  Hope,  are  inimitable. 

The  Shepherd.  God  safe  us  a',  I  never  saw  a  man  afore  noo  2>ut- 

*  John  Vandenhoff,  the  actor,  was  an  especial  favorite  with  Edinburgh  play-goers.  They 
cherished  a  fond  recollection  of  John  Kemble,  something  of  whose  style  of  acting  Vandenhoff 
had  adopted. — M. 

t'"  The  Vespers  of  Palermo,"  beautiful  as  a  dramatic  poem,  made  slight  impression  on  the 
public  mind  either  in  London  or  Edinburgh.  At  the  latter  place  it  was  brought  out  on  the 
especial  solicitation  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  who  was  urged  to  take  an  interest  in  it  by  Joanna 
Baillie.  Before  its  production  in  Edinburgh,  Scott  wrote  to  say,  "  I  trust  the  piece  will  succeed  ; 
but  there  is  no  promising,  for  Saunders  is  meanly  jealous  of  being  thought  less  critical  than 
John  Bull,  and  may,  perhaps,  despise  to  be  pleased  with  what  was  less  fortunate  in  London." 
He  subsequently  said,  in  allusion  to  this  play,  that,  in  Edinburgh,  it  was  "  situation,  passion, 
and  rapidity  of  action,  which  seem  to  be  the  principal  requisites  for  securing  the  success  of  a 
Qiodern  drama." — M. 


1824.]  "  THE   BAILLIe's   GUSE."  411 

ting  sax  mucMe  oysters  in  the  mouth  o'  him  a'  at  aince,  but  yoursel, 
Mr.  North. 

Tickler.  Pray,  North,  what  wearisome  and  persevering  idiot  kept 
mumbling  monthly  and  crying  quarterly  about  Mrs.  Hemans,  in  the 
'  Baillie's  Guse,"  for  four  years  on  end  ? 

The  Sheioherd.  The  Baillie's  Guse  ! — wha's  he  that  ?  Is't  ane  o'  the 
periodicals  you're  misca'ing  ? 

Tickler.  Yes — Waugh's  Old  New  Edinburgh  Review.*  It  was 
called  so,  for  the  first  time,  by  the  Shepherd  himself — and  most  apt- 
ly— as  it  waddled,  flapped,  and  gabbled,  out  of  the  worthy  Baillie's 
shop,  through  among  the  stand  of  coaches  in  Hunter  Square. 

North.  It  was  indeed  a  bright  idea  to  fight  a  gander  against  a 
game-cock — Pool  versus  Jeff"rey  ! 

The  Shepherd.  Weel,  do  you  ken,  I  thought  it  a  gay  gude  review 
— but  it  was  unco  late  in  noticing  warks.  The  contributors,  I  jalouse, 
werena  very  original-minded  lads,  and  lay  back  till  they  heard  tho 
general  sugh.  But  when  they  did  pronounce,  I  thought  them,  for  the 
maist  part,  gude  grammarians. 

Tickler.  The  ninny  I  allude  to,  who  must  be  a  phrenologist,  could 
utter  not  a  syllable  but  "  Hemans,  Hemans,  Hemans  !"  The  lady  must 
have  been  disgusted. 

Shepherd.  No  she,  indeed.  What  leddy  was  ever  disgusted  even  by 
the  flattery  o'  a  fule  ? 

Tickler.  They  were  a  base  as  well  as  a  stupid  pack.  Low  mean 
animosities  peeped  out  in  every  page,  and  with  the  exception  of  our 
most  excellent  friend  R.,  and  two  or  three  others,  the  contributors  were 
scarcely  fit  to  compile  an  obituary.  The  editor  laimself  is  a  weak  well- 
meaning  creature,  and  when  the  Baillie's  Guse  breathed  her  last,  he 
naturally  became  Taggar  to  the  Phrenological  Journal. 

North.  I  should  be  extremely  sorry  to  think  that  my  friend  Waugh, 
who  is  a  well-informed  gentlemanly  man,  has  lost  money  in  this  ill- 
judged  business.  The  Guse,  as  you  call  it,  occasionally  quacked,  as 
if  half  afraid,  half  angry,  at  poor  innocent  Maga,  but  I  never  gave  the 
animal  a  single  kick.     Was  its  keep  expensive  to  the  Baillie  ? 

Tickler.  Too  much  so,  I  fear.  These  tenth-raters  are  greedy  dogs. 
Do  you  not  remember  Tims  ? 

North.  Alas  !  poor  Tims !  I  had  forgot  his  importunities.  But  I 
thought  I  saw  his  Silliness  in  Taylor  and  Hessey,  a  month  or  two  ago 
— "  a  pen-and-ink  sketch  of  the  late  trial  at  Hertford." 

Tickler.  Yes — yes — yes — Tims  on  Thurtell ! !  By  the  way,  what  a 
most  ludicrous  thing  it  would  have  been  had  Thurtell  assassinated 
Tims  !  Think  of  Tims's  face  when  he  found  Jack  was  serious.  What 
small,  mean,  paltry,  contemptible  Cockney  shrieks  would  he  havf' 
emitted !     'Pon  my  honor,  had  Jack  bond  fide  Thurtellized  Tims,  it 

*  Th«  N&w  Edmburgh  Bemew  was  published  by  Waugh  &,  Innes.— M. 


412  NOCTES   AMBROSIAN^.  [April, 

would  have  been  productive  of  the  worst  consequence  to  the  human 
race ;  it  would  have  thrown  such  an  air  of  absurdity  over  murder."^ 

Shepherd.  What !  has  that  bit  Cockney  cretur  Tims,  that  I  fright- 
ened sae  in  the  Tent  at  Braemar,  when  he  offered  to  sing  ''  Scots  wha 
hae  wi'  Wallace  bled,"  been  writing  about  ae  man  murdering  anither  ? 
He  wasna  blate. 

Tickler.  Yes,  he  has — and  his  account  is  a  curiosity.  Tims  thinks, 
that  the  most  appalling  circumstance  attending  the  said  murder  was, 
that  every  thing  was  "  in  clusters."  "  It  is  strange,"  quoth  he,  "  that, 
solitary  as  the  place  was,  and  desperate  as  was  the  murder" — the  actors 
— the  witnesses — all  but  the  poor  helpless  solitary  thing  that  perished, 
"  were  in  clusters  !" 

Shepherd.  Hout,  tout,  Tims  ! 

Tickler.  "The  murderers  were  in  clusters,"  he  continues — "the 
farmer  that  heard  the  pistol  had  his  wife,  and  child,  and  nurse  with 
him  ;  there  were  two  laborers  at  work  in  the  lane,  on  the  morning 
after  the  butcher- work ;  there  was  a  merry  party  at  the  cottage  on 
the  very  night,  singing  and  supping,  while  Weare's  mangled  carcass 
was  lying  darkening  in  its  gore  in  the  neighboring  field ;  there  were 
hosts  of  publicans  and  hostlers  witnesses  of  the  gang's  progress  on  their 
blood-journey ;  and  the  gigs,  pistols,  even  the  very  knives  ran  in  pairs." 
Quod  Tims,  in  Taylor  and  Hessey,f  for  Feb.  1,  1824 — for  here  is  the 
page,  with  which  I  now  light  my  pipe.  By  all  that  is  miraculous, 
these  candles  are  in  clusters. 

Shepherd.  That's  ae  way,  indeed,  o'  makin'  murder  ridiculous.  But 
it's  a  lee.  The  gigs  did  not  run  in  clusters.  Only  think  o'  ca'ing  ae 
gig  passing  anither  on  the  road,  a  cluster  o'  gigs  !  Neither  did  the 
actors  run  in  clusters,  for  Thurtell  was  by  himself  when  he  did  the  job. 
And  then  the  pistols  !  Did  he  never  hear  before  o'  a  pair  o'  pistols  ? 
Tims,  if  you  were  here,  I  wad  thraw  your  nose  for  you,  ye  conceited 

Tickler  [reading).  "  It  seems  as  though  it  were  fated,  that  William 
Weare  should  be  the  only  solitary  object  on  that  desperate  night,  when 
he  clung  to  life  in  agony  and  blood,  and  was  at  last  struck  out  of 
existence  as  a  thing,  single,  valueless,  and  vile."  He  was,  it  seems,  a 
bachelor. 

Shepherd.  The  only  solitary  object  on  that  desperate  night.  Was 
nae  shepherd  walking  by  himsel'  on  the  mountains  ?  But  what  kind 
o'  a  Magazine  can  that  o'  Taylor  and  Hessey  be,  to  take  sic  writers  as 
Tims  ?     I  hope  they  don't  run  in  clusters. 

North.  Give  me  a  bit  of  the  sheet — for  my  cigar  (Heaven  defend 

*  The  murder  of  William  Weare,  a  London  gambler,  by  Thurtell,  Probert,  and  Hunt : — this 
last  was  brother  of  the  late  Henry  Hunt,  a  dramatic  vocalist  in  New-York,  and  father  of 
Mrs.  or  Madame  Thillon,  the  operatic  singer. — M. 

t  The  London  Magazine.— M. 


1824.]  THIIRTELL's   DEFENCE.  413 

me,  the  cigars  ran  in  clusters)  is  extinct.  Let  me  see.  Hear  Tims 
on  Thurtell's  speech. 

"  The  soHd,  slow,  and  appalling  tone  in  which  he  rang  out  these  last 
words,  can  never  be  imagined  by  those  who  were  not  auditors  of  it. 
He  had  worked  himself  up  into  a  great  actor — and  his  eye,  for  the 
first  time  during  the  trial,  became  alive  and  eloquent ;  his  attitude  was 
expressive  in  the  extreme.  He  clung  to  every  separate  word  with  an 
earnestness  which  we  cannot  describe,  as  though  every  syllable  had 
the  power  to  buoy  up  his  sinking  life — and  that  these  were  the  last 
sounds  that  were  ever  to  be  sent  unto  the  ear  of  those  who  were  to 
decree  his  doom ! 

"  The  final  word,  God !  was  thrown  up  with  an  almost  gigantic 
energy — and  he  stood,  after  its  utterance,*  with  his  arm  extended,  his 
face  protruded,  and  his  chest  dilated,  as  if  the  spell  of  the  sound  were 
yet  upon  him,  and  as  though  he  dared  not  move,  lest  he  should  dis- 
turb the  still-echoing  appeal !  He  then  drew  his  hands  slowly  back — 
pressed  them  firmly  to  his  breast,  and  sat  down,  half  exhausted,  in  the 
dock." 

Omnes.  Ha !  ha !  ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  ha !  ha !  ha !  ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  ha  1 

North  {gravely).  "  When  he  first  commenced  his  defence,  he  spoke 
in  a  steady,  artificial  manner,  after  the  style  of  Forum  orators — but  as 
he  warmed  in  the  subject,  and  felt  his  ground  with  the  jury,  he  became 
more  unaffectedly  earnest,  and  naturally  solemn — and  his  mention  of 
his  mother's  love,  and  his  fether's  piety,  drew  the  tear  up  to  his  eye 
almost  to  falling.  He  paused — and,  though  pressed  by  the  judge  to 
rest,  to  sit  down,  to  desist,  he  stood  up,  resolute  against  his  feelings, 
and  finally,  with  one  fast  gulp,  swallowed  down  his  tears  !  He  wrestled 
with  griefs  and  threw  it !  When  speaking  of  Barber  Beaumont,  the 
tiger  indeed  came  over  him,  and  his  very  voice  seemed  to  escape  out 
of  his  keeping.  There  was  such  a  savage  vehemence  in  his  whole 
look  and  manner,  as  quite  to  awe  his  hearers.  With  an  unfortunate 
quotation  from  a  play,  in  which  he  long  had  acted  too  bitterly, — The 
Revenge ! — he  soothed  his  maddened  heart  to  quietness,  and  again 
resumed  his  defence,  and  for  a  few  minutes  in  a  doubly  artificial  seren- 
ity. The  tone  in  which  he  wished  that  he  had  died  in  battle  reminded 
me  of  KearC s  farewell  to  the  pomp  of  war  in  Othello — and  the  follow- 
ing consequence  of  such  a  death  was  as  grandly  delivered  by  Thurtell 
as  it  was  possible  to  be :  '  Then  my  father  and  my  family,  though 
they  would  have  mourned  my  loss,  would  have  blessed  my  name ;  and 
shame  would  not  have  rolled  its  burning  fires  over  my  memory  1'  "f 

*  To  strengthen  his  protestation  of  innocence,  Thurtell  closed  with  the  common  adjuration, 
"  So  help  ne  God." — M. 

t  In  1824,  when  Thurtell  was  tried  for  the  murder  of  Weare,  the  law  expressly  forbade  that 
persons  accused  of  such  a  crime  should  be  allowed  the  privilege,  extended  to  prisoners  in  all 
other  cases,  (except  in  courts-martial,)  of  being  heard  by  counsel.  The  law  has  since  been 
altered.    It  was  stated  and  believed  that  Thurtell's  defence,  which  he  read  remarkably  well, 


414  NOCTES  AMBKOSIAIJ-JE.  [April, 

Omnes.  Ha!  ha!  lia!  ha!  ha!- ha!  ha!  ha!  ha! 
Shepherd.  Weel,  I  dinna  ken  the  time  I  hae  laucht  so  muckle.  I'm 
sair  exhausted.  Gie's  a  drink.  The  Enghsh  folk  gaed  clean  mad 
a'thegither  about  that  fallow.  I  never  could  see  ony  thing  very- 
remarkable  about  his  cutting  Weare's  craig.  It  was  a  puir  murder 
yon.  There  was  that  deevil-incarnate  Gordon,  that  murdered  the  bit 
silly  callant  o'  a  pedlar  on  Eskdale  muir,  the  ither  year,  and  nae  sic 
sugh  about  it  in  a'  the  papers. 

Tickler.  I  forget  it.     The  particulars  ? 

Shepherd.  Oh  !  man,  it  was  a  cruel  deed.  He  foregathered  wi'  the 
laddie  and  his  bit  pack,  trudging  by  himsel'  among  the  hills,  frae 
housie  to  housie ;  and  he  keepit  company  wi'  him  for  twa  hail  days, 
ane  o'  them  the  Sabbath.  Nae  doubt  he  talked,  and  lauched,  and 
joked  wi'  the  puir  creature,  wha  was  a  bonnie  boy  they  say,  but  little 
better  in  his  intellects  than  an  innocent,  only  hafflins  wise ;  and  when 
the  ane  stapped,  the  ither  stapped,  and  they  eat  bread  thegither  by 
different  ingles,  and  sleepit  twa  nichts  in  ae  bed.  In  a  lanesome  place 
he  tuk  the  callant  and  murdered  him  wi'  the  iron-heel  o'  ane  of  his 
great  wooden  clogs.  The  savage-tramper  smashed  in  the  skull  wi'  its 
yellow  hair,  didna  wait  to  shut  the  bonnie  blue  een,  put  the  pack  over 
his  ain  braid  shouthers,  and  then,  demented  as  he  was,  gaed  into  the 
verra  next  town  as  a  packman,  and  selt  to  the  lassies  the  bits  o'  rib- 
bons, and  pencils,  and  thumbles,  and  sic  like,  o'  the  murdered  laddie. 
I  saw  him  hanged.  I  gaed  into  Dumfries  on  purpose.  I  wanted  them 
no  to  put  ony  night-cap  over  the  ugly  face  o'  him,  that  we  might  a' 
see  his  last  girns,  and  am  only  sorry  that  I  didna  see  him  dissecked. 

TicMer,  A  set  of  amusing  articles  might,  I  think,  be  occasionally 
compiled  from  the  recorded  trials  of  our  best  British  murderers.  We 
are  certainly  a  blood-thirsty  people ;  and  the  scaffold  has  been  mounted, 
in  this  country,  by  many  first-rate  criminals. 

North.  One  meets  with  the  most  puzzling  malefactors,  who  perpe- 
trate atrocious  deeds  upon  such  recondite  principles,  that  they  elude 
the  scrutiny  of  the  most  perspicacious  philosophers.  Butlers,  on  good 
wages  and  easy  work,  rise  out  of  comfortable  warm  beds,  and  cut  the 
throats  of  their  masters  quite  unaccountably  ;  well-educated  gentlemen 
of  a  thousand  a-year,  magistrates  for  the  county,  and  prseses  of  public 
meetings  for  the  redress  of  grievances,  throw  their  wives  over  bridges 
and  into  coal-pits;  pretty  blue-eyed  young  maidens  poison  whole 
families  with  a  mess  of  pottage ;  matrons  of  threescore  strangle  their 
sleeping  partners  Avith  a  worsted  garter ;  a  decent  well-dressed  person 
meets  you  on  your  evening  stroll,  and  after  knocking  out  your  brains 
with  a  bludgeon,  pursues  his  journey ;  if  you  are  an  old  bachelor,  or  a 
single  lady  advanced  in  years,  you  may  depend  upon  being  found 

was  written  for  him  by  Charles  Phillips,  the  Irish  Barrister.— The  article  in  the  London  MagU" 
sine  was  attributed  to  Hazlitt. — M. 


1 8  21.  ]  MUEDEE-DEE  AMS.  41 5 

some  morning  stretched  along  your  lobby  with  your  eyes  starting  out 
of  their  sockets,  the  blue  marks  of  finger-nails  indented  into  your  wizen, 
and  your  os  frontis  driven  in  upon  your  brain,  apparently  by  the  blow 
of  a  sledge-hammer. 

Shepherd.  Haud  your  tongues,  baud  your  tongues,  ye  twa ;  you're 
making  me  a'  grew. 

Tickler.  A  beautiful  variety  of  disposition  and  genius  serves  to 
divest  of  sameness  the  simple  act  of  slaughter ;  and  the  benevolent 
reader  never  tires  of  details,  in  which  knives,  daggers,  pistols,  clubs, 
mallets,  hatchets,  and  apothecaries'  phials,  "dance  through  all  the 
mazes  of  rhetorical  confusion."  JSTothing  can  be  "more  refreshing" 
than  a  few  hours'  sleep  after  the  perusal  of  a  bloody  murder.  Your 
dreams  are  such  as  Coleridge  might  envy.  Clubs  batter  out  your 
brains  ; — your  throat  is  filled  with  mud,  as  three  strong  Irishmen 
(their  accent  betrays  them)  tread  you  down  seven  fathoms  into  a 
quagmire.  "You  had  better  lie  quiet,  sir,"  quoth  Levi  Hyams,  a 
Jew,  while  he  applies  a  pig-butcher's  knife  to  the  jugular  vein ;  you 
start  up  like  Priam  at  the  dead  of  night,  and  an  old  hag  of  a  house- 
keeper chops  your  nose  off  with  a  cleaver.  "  Oh  !  what  a  pain  me- 
thinks  it  is  to  die,"  as  a  jolly  young  waterman  flings  you  out  of  his 
wherry  into  the  Thames,  immediately  below  Wellington  Bridge. 
"  Spare — spare  my  life,  and  take  all  I  have  !"  has  no  effect  upon  two 
men  in  crape,  who  bury  you,  half  dead,  in  a  ditch.  "  He  still  breathes," 
growls  a  square  thickset  ruffian  in  a  fustian  jacket,  as  he  gives  you  the 
coup-de-grace  with  a  hedge-stake. 

Shepherd.  Haud  your  tongues,  I  *say.  You'll  turn  my  stomach  at 
this  dish  o'  tripe.  The  moniplies  .and  the  lady's  hood  are  just  excel- 
lent.    Change  the  conversation. 

TicMer.  You  are  huddled  out  of  a  garret-window  by  a  gang  of 
thieves,  and  feel  yourself  impaled  on  the  area  spikes ;  or  the  scoun- 
drels have  set  the  house  on  fire,  that  none  may  know  they  have  mur- 
dered you ;  you  are  gagged  with  a  floor-brush  till  your  mouth  yawns 
like  a  barn-door,  yet  told,  if  you  open  your  lips,  you  are  a  dead  man ; 
outlandish  devils  put  you  into  a  hot  oven ;  you  try  to  escape  from  the 
murderer  of  the  Marrs,  and  other  households,  through  a  common-sewer, 
and  all  egress  is  denied  by  a  catacomb  of  cats,  and  the  offal  of  twenty 

dissecting-tables.    "  Hoize  him  into  the  boiler,  and  be  d d  to  him ;" 

and  no  sooner  said  than  done.  "  Leave  off  haggling  at  his  windpipe, 
Jack,  and  scoop  out  his  bloody  eyes." 

North.  How  do  you  like  to  be  buried  in  quick-lime  in  your  back- 
court,  heaving  all  the  while  like  a  mole-hill,  above  your  gashes,  and 
puddled  with  your  slow-oozing  heart-blood  ?  Is  it  a  luxury  to  be 
pressed  down,  neck  and  crop,  scarified  like  bacon,  into  a  barrel  below 
a  water-spout,  among  dirty  towels,  sheets,  and  other  napery,  to  be  dis- 
covered, six  weeks  hence,  in  a  state  of  putrefaction  ?     What  think  you 


416  ISrOCTES   AMBEOSIAN^.  [Aprti, 

of  being  fairly  cut  up  like  a  swine,  and  pickled,  salted,  barrelled,  and 
shipped  off  at  fourpence  a  pound,  for  the  use  of  a  blockading  squadron  ? 
Or  would  you  rather,  in  the  shape  of  hams,  circumnavigate  the  globe 
with  Cook  or  Vancouver  ?  Di-eams — dreams — dreams.  "  I  wake  in 
horror,  and  dare  sleep  no  more !" 

Tickler.  Could  it  have  been  believed,  that  in  a  country  where  mur- 
der has  thus  been  carried  to  so  high  a  pitch  of  cultivation,  its  fourteen 
million  inhabitants  would  have  been  set  agape  and  aghast  by  such  a 
pitiful  knave  as  Jack  Thurtell  killing  and  bagging  one  single  miserable 
sharper  ?     Monstrous  ! 

North,  There  was  Sarah  Malcolm,  a  sprightly  young  charwoman  of 
the  Temple,  that  murdered,  with  her  own  hand,  a  whole  household. 
Few  spinsters,  we  think,  have  been  known  to  murder  three  of  their  own 
sex ;  and  Sarah  Malcolm  must  ever  stand  in  the  first  class  of  assassins. 
She  had  no  accomplice ;  her  own  hand  held  down  the  gray  heads  of 
the  poor  old  women,  and  strangled  them  with  unflinching  fingers.  As 
for  the  young  girl  of  seventeen,  she  cut  her  throat  from  ear  to  ear, 
while  she  was  perhaps  dreaming  of  her  sweetheart.  She  silenced  all 
the  breath  in  the  house,  and  shut  by  the  dead  bodies ;  went  about  her 
ordinary  business,  as  sprightly  as  ever,  and  lighted  a  young  Irish  gen- 
tleman's fire  at  the  usual  hour. 

Tickler.  What  an  admirable  wife  would  Sarah  have  made  for  Wil- 
liams, who,  some  dozen  years  ago,  began  work  as  if  he  purposed  to 
murder  the  metropolis !  Sarah  was  sprightly  and  diligent,  good-look- 
ing, and  fond  of  admiration.  Williams  was  called  "  Gentleman  Wil- 
liams," so  genteel  and  amiable  a  cVeature  did  he  seem  to  be ;  so  pleas- 
ant with  his  chit-chat,  and  vein  of  trifling,  peculiar  to  himself,  and  not 
to  be  imitated.  He  was  very  fond  of  children,  used  to  dandle  them 
with  a  truly  parental  air,  and  pat  their  curled  heads,  with  the  hand 
that  cut  an  infant's  throat  in  the  cradle.  Williams  was  a  sober  man, 
and  no  brawler;  he  preferred  quiet  conversation  with  the  landlady 
and  her  family  within  the  bar,  to  the  brutal  mirth  of  the  tavern-boxes ; 
and  young  and  old  were  alike  delighted  with  the  suavity  of  his  smile. 
But  in  his  white  great-coat — with  his  maul — or  his  ripping-chisel — 
or  his  small  ivory-handled  penknife,  at  dead  of  night,  stealing  upon  a 
doomed  family,  with  long  silent  strides,  while,  at  the  first  glare  of  his 
eyes,  the  victims  shrieked  aloud,  "  We  are  all  murdered  !"  Williams 
was  then  a  different  being  indeed,  and  in  all  his  glory.  His  ripping- 
chisel  struck  to  the  heart  the  person  whose  cheek  he  had  patted  two 
hours  before.  Charles  Martell  himself,  or  the  Pounder,  smashed  not  a 
skull  like  Williams,  the  Midnight  Malletteer — and  tidily  and  tenderly 
did  he  cover  up  the  baby  with  its  cradle-clothes,  when  he  knew  that 
he  had  pierced  its  gullet  like  a  quill.  He  never  allowed  such  trifles 
long  to  ruffle  his  temper.  In  the  evening,  he  was  seen  smiling  as  be- 
fore ;  even  more  gentle  aud  insinuating  than  usual ;  more  tenderly  did 


1824.]  SURGEON   CONOLLT.  417 

lie  kiss  little  Tommy,  as  lie  prepared  to  toddle  to  liis  crib  ;  and,  as  lie 
touched  the  bosom  of  the  bar-maid  in  pleasing  violence,  he  thought 
how  at  one  blow  the  blood  would  spout  from  her  heart.^ 

North.  Sarah  Malcolm  was  just  the  person  to  have  been  his  bride. 
What  a  honey-moon  1  How  soft  would  have  been  their  pillow,  as  they 
recited  a  past,  or  planned  a  future  murder  !  How  would  they  have 
fallen  asleep  in  each  other's  blood-stained  arms!  with  the  ripping- 
chisel  below  their  pillow,  and  the  maul  upon  the  hearth  ! 

The  Shepherd.  I  wadna  walk  by  myself  through  a  dark  wood  the 
night,  gin  ony  body  were  to  gie  me  a  thousand  pounds.  I  never  heard 
you  in  sic  a  key  before.     It's  no  right — it's  no  right ! 

North.  What  do  the  phrenologers  say  about  Thurtell  ?  I  have  not 
seen  any  of  their  Transactions  lately. 

Tickler.  That  he  had  the  organ  of  Conscientiousness  full,  a  large 
Benevolence,  and  also  a  finely-developed  organ  of  Veneration,  just  as 
it  might  have  been  expected,  they  say,  from  his  character.  For  the 
phrenologer  thinks  that  Jack  would  not  have  cheated  an  honest  man, 
that  he  was  another  Howard  in  benevolence,  and  had  a  deep  sense  of 
religion. 

The  Shepherd.  I  canna  believe  they  would  speak  sic  desperate  hav- 
ers as  that. 

Tickler  {ringing  the  hell,  enters  Ambrose).  Bring  No.  H.  of  the  Phre- 
nological Journal,  Mr.  Ambrose.  You  know  where  to  find  it.  Per- 
haps the  article  I  allude  to  may  not  yet  be  destroyed. 

North.  What  can  the  Courier^  mean  by  talking  such  infernal  non- 
sense. Tickler,  about  that  murderous  desperado.  Surgeon  Conolly  ? 

Tickler.  A  puzzle.  The  Courier  is  an  excellent  paper — and  I  never 
before  knew  it,  in  a  question  of  common  sense  and  common  morality, 
obstinately,  singularly,  and  idiotically  in  the  wrong.  . 

North.  Why,  the  cruel  villain  would  have  shot  others  besides  poor 
Grainger — and  after  his  blood  was  cooled,  he  exulted  in  the  murder 
of  that  unfortunate  man.  The  gallows  was  cheated  of  Conolly,  by  a 
quirk  of  the  law. 

Tickler.  Judge  Best  saw  the  thing  in  its  true  light ;  and  the  coun- 
tiy  is  indebted  to  him  for  his  stubborn  justice.  Why,  the  Courier 
says,  that  not  one  man  in  a  hundred,  but  would  have  done  as  Conolly 
did.f — Oh  monstrous  !  is  murder  so  very  ordinary  a  transaction  ? 

North.  No  more,  no  more.  But  to  be  done  with  it,  listen  to  this : 
— "We  are  informed  that  this  unfortunate  gentleman  has  directed  his 
friends  to  supply  him  with  a  complete  set  of  surgical  instruments,  with 

*  There  was  no  actual  proof,  but  the  strongest  presumption,  that  Williams  really  was  a 
wholesale  murderer.  He  died  before  the  time  appointed  for  his  trial,  and  the  London  popu- 
lace, solemnly  taking  his  corpse  to  the  places  where  the  murders  had  been  committed, 
treated  it  there  with  unheard  of  ignominy,  and  then  shot  it  into  a  hole  dug  in  a  ditch,  pour- 
ing over  it  as  much  quicklime  as  would  have  built  a  moderate-sized  house.— M. 

1 1  am  ignorant  of  the  circumstances  here  referred  to. — M. 

18* 


418  NOCTES   AJ^IBEOSIAN^.  [April, 

all  the  new  iuventions,  and  a  complete  chamber  medicine  chest.  There 
is  no  doubt  that  he  will  be  of  the  greatest  utility  to  the  colony,  from 
the  great  want  of  medical  men  there  ;  but  there  is  less  doubt  that  he 
will  be  one  of  the  first  in  the  country,  as  he  is  covered  with  misfor- 
tunes, and  unpolluted  by  crimer 

Tkkler.  That  cannot  be  from  the  Courier. 

NoHh.  Alas  I  it  is — although  quoted  from  the  Medical  Adviser. 

Tickler.  I  shall  row  Mudford  for  this,-  first  time  I  dine  with  him  in 
town.  Here  is  another  folly,  although  of  a  difierent  character,  from 
the  same  excellent  paper  of  our  excellent  friend,*  an  account  of  the 
Slot's  Introductory  Lecture  on  what  is  called  Political  Economy,  The 
Ricardo  Lecture  ! !  "  Mr.  M'Culloch  began  his  lecture  by  pointing  out 
the  importance  of  the  study  of  Political  Economy,  and  observed,  that 
the  accumulation  of  wealth  could  alone  raise  men  from  that  miserable 
state  of  society,  in  which  all  were  occupied  in  providing  for  their  im- 
mediate physical  wants,  by  aff'ording  them  the  means  of  subsistence 
when  employed  in  the  cultivation  of  mental  powers,  or  in  those  pur- 
suits which  embellish  life." 

North.  Most  statistical  of  Stots !  I  had  quite  forgotten  the  stupid 
savage — but,  look  here.  Tickler — here  is  a  flaming  account  of  his  sec- 
ond display,  in  the  Morning  Chronicle.  "  He  showed  that  objects  de- 
rive their  value  from  labor  alone,  and  that  they  are  more  or  less  valu- 
able in  proportion  as  labor  is  expended  on  them  ;  that  the  air,  and  the 
rays  of  the  sun,  however  necessary  and  useful,  possess  no  value  ;  that 
water,  which  at  a  river's  side  is  of  no  value,  acquires  a  value  when  re- 
quired by  persons  who  are  at  some  distance,  in  proportion  to  the  labor 
employed  in  its  conveyance." 

Shepherd.  I  aye  thocht  M'Culloch  a  dull  dour  fellow,t  but  the  like 
o'  that  beats  a'.  It's  an  awfu'  truism.  The  London  folk  'ill  never  thole 
sic  havers  frae  sic  a  hallanshaker. 

North.  On  Mr.  Canning's  appointment  to  the  Secretaryship,  the  Cou- 
rier honored  us  by  gracing  its  chief  column  with  a  character  of  that 
distinguished  person  from  our  pages,  but  without  acknowledgment. 
He  never  quotes  us,  therefore  why  did  he  steal  ? 

Tickler.  Poo  !  poo  !  be  not  so  sensitive.  Nothing  uncommon  in 
that.  It's  the  way  of  the  world  ;  and  I  am  sure  if  Odoherty  were  here, 
he  would  laud  Mudford  for  knowing  a  good  thing.  Here's  that  gen- 
tleman's health — I  respect  and  esteem  him  highly. — James,  you  are  a 
most  admirable  carver.     That  leg  will  do. 

Shepherd.  No  ofience,  sir,  but  this  leg's  no  for  you,  but  for  mysel.  1 
thought  I  wad  never  hae  gotten't  aflf.   Naething  better  than  the  roasted 

*  William  Mudford  was  Editor  of  the  London  Courier  for  many  years,  and  author  of  a  ro- 
mance called  "  Five  Nights  of  St.  Albans." — M. 

t  J.  R.  M'Culloch  had  been  appointed  Professor  of  Political  Economy  in  London  University, 
then  just  founded.— M. 


1824.]  COKNET   BATTIER.  419 

leg  o'  a  hen.  Safe  us !  she's  fu'  o'  eggs.  What  for  did  they  thraw 
the  neck  o'  an  eerock  when  her  kame  was  red,  and  her  just  gaen  to  fa' 
a-laying  ?  Howsomever,  there's  no  great  hana  done.  Oh  !  man,  this 
is  a  grand  sooping-house.  Rax  ower  the  porter.  Here's  to  you,  lads, 
baith  o'  you.  What's  a'  this  bizziness  that  I  heard  them  speaking 
about  in  Selkirk  as  I  came  through,  in  regard  to  the  tenth  company  o' 
Hoozawrs  ? 

Tickler.  Why,  I  cannot  think  Battier  a  well-used  man.  They  sent 
him  to  Coventry.* 

Shepherd.  I  would  just  as  soon  gang  to  Coventry  as  to  Dublin  city. 
But  what  was  the  cause  o'  the  rippet  ? 

North.  Why,  the  Tenth  is  a  crack  regiment,  and  not  thinking  Mr. 
Battier  any  ornament  to  the  corps,  they  rather  foro-ot.  their  good  man- 
ners a  little  or  so,  and  made  the  mess  mighty  disagreeable  to  him ; 
so,  after  several  trifling  occurrences  too  tedious  to  bore  you  with,  Hogg, 
w^hy,  Mr.  Battier  made  himself  scarce,  got  himself  rowed  a  good  deal 
by  the  people  at  the  Horse-guards,  sold  his  horses,  I  presume,  and  now 
sports  half-pay  in  the  pedestrian  service. 

The  Shepherd.  But  what  for  was  he  nae  ornament  to  the  corpse  ? 
Wasna  he  a  gentleman  ? 

North.  Perfectly  a  gentleman  ;  but  somehow  or  another  not  to  the 
taste  of  the  Tenth ;  and  then,  such  a  rider  ! 

The  Shepherd.  What !  wasna  he  a  gude  rider  upon  horseback  ? 

North.  The  worst  since  John  Gilpin.  In  a  charge,  he  "grasped 
fast  the  flowing  mane,"  gave  tongui3, — and  involuntarily  deserted.  So 
says  his  colonel ;  and  Mr.  Battier,  although  he  has  published  a  denial 
of  being  the  son  of  a  merchant,  has  not,  so  far  as  I  have  observed, 
avowed  himself  a  Castor. 

Shepherd.  Na,  if  that  be  the  case,  the  ither  lads  had  some  excuse. 
But  what  garr'd  Mr.  Battier  gang  into  the  Hoozawrs,  gin  he  couldna 
ride  ?  I  hope,  now  that  he  has  gaen  into  the  Foot,  that  he  may  be 
able  to  walk.  If  not,  he  had  better  leave  the  service,  and  fin'  out  some 
genteel  sedentary  trade.     He  wadna  like  to  be  a  tailor  ? 

Tickler.  Why,  Battier,  I  am  told,  is  a  worthy  fellow,  and  as  I  said 
before,  he  was  ill  used.  But  he  ought  not  to  have  gone  into  the  Tenth, 
and  he  ought  not  to  have  made  use  of  threatening  inuendos  after  leav- 
ing the  regiment,  and  crossing  the  Channel. 

North.  Certainly  not.  No  gentleman  should  challenge  a  whole  regi- 
ment, especially  through  the  medium  of  the  public  press. 

Shepherd.  If  Mr.  Battier  were  to  challenge  me,  if  I  were  ane  o'  the 

*  Mr.  Battier  obtained  a  Cornetcy  in  the  10th  Hussars,  a  dandy  regiment,  commanded  by  a 
gallant  soldier,  the  late  Marquis  of  Londonderry.  The  officers,  on  finding  that  Mr.  Battler's 
father  had  been  in  trade,  agreed  to  cut  him.  Of  course,  he  did  not  tamely  submit  to  this,  but 
his  complaints  being  useless,  he  left  the  regiment,  challenging  Lord  Londondery  to  the  duello, 
on  the  plea  that  he  was  to  be  held  responsible  for,  because  he  could  and  ought  to  have  check- 
ed, the  ill  conduct  of  the  officers.    Shots  were  exchanged,  and  this  ended  the  affair.— M. 


420  NOCTES   AMBROSIAN^.  ("April, 

offishers  o'  the  Tenth,  I  wad  fechthim  on  horseback— either  wi'  sword 
or  pistol,  or  baith  ;  and  what  wad  my  man  do,  then,  wi'  his  arms  around 
the  neck  o'  his  horse,  and  me  hewing  awa'  at  him,  head  and  hurdies  ? 

North.  It  was  a  silly  business  altogether,  and  is  gone  by — but,  alas, 
poor  Collier  !     That  was  a  tragedy  indeed. 

Tickler.  Confound  that  lubber,  James.  If  he  has  feeling  at  all,  he 
must  be  miserable. 

North.  His  account  of  the  affair  at  first  was  miserably  ill-written — 
indeed,  incomprehensible — and  grossly  contradictory — extremely  inso- 
lent, and  in  many  essential  points  false.  All  were  to  blame,  it  seems, 
commodore,  captains,  crews,  and  Admiralty.  A  pretty  presumptuous 
prig ! 

Shepherd.  Puir  chiel !  puir  chiel !  I  saw't  in  a  paper — and  couldna 
help  greeting ;  a'  riddled  wi'  wouns  in  the  service  o'  his  country,  and 
to  come  to  that  end  at  last !  Has  that  fallow  James  bitterly  lamented 
the  death  o'  the  brave  sea-captain,^  and  deplored  having  caused  sic  a 
woful  disaster  ? 

North.  Not  as  he  ought  to  have  done.  But  the  whole  country  must 
henceforth  despise  him  and  his  book.  I  could  pardon  his  first  offence, 
for  no  man  could  have  foreseen  what  has  happened ;  but  his  subse- 
quent conduct  has  been  unpardonable.  He  owed  to  the  country  the 
expression  of  deep  and  bitter  grief,  for  having  been  the  unintentional, 
but  not  altogether  the  innocent  cause  of  the  death  of  one  of  her  noblest 
heroes. 

Tickler.  I  see  Phillimore  has  been  bastinadoing  James — impru- 
dently, I  opine.  You  have  no  right  to  walk  into  a  man's  house  with 
your  hat  on,  like  a  Quaker,  supported-  by  a  comrade,  and  then  in  the 
most  un-Friendly  manner,  strike  your  host  over  the  pate  with  a  scion 
from  an  oak-stump. 

North.  Certainly  you  have  not.  I  am  sorry  that  my  friend  Philli- 
more, as  brave  a  fellow  as  ever  walked  a  quarter-deck,  did  not  consult 
his  brother  the  doctor.  But  I  believe  the  captain  had  no  intention  of 
assaulting  the  naval  historian  when  he  entered  the  premises ;  and  that 
some  gross  impertinence  on  the  part  of  the  scribe,  brought  the  switch 
into  active  service. 

Tickler.  The  public  will  pardon  Phillimore.f  A  Naval  History  is 
a  very  good  thing,  if  written  by  a  competent  person,  which  James  is 
not,  although  the  man  has  some  merit  as  a  chronicler.  But  the  very 
idea  of  criticising  in  detail  every  action,  just  as  you  would  criticise  a 
volume  of  poems,  is  not  a  little  absurd.  Southey's  Life  of  Nelson  is 
good. 

*  Mr.  James  noUhe  novelist)  had  written  a  Naval  Biography  in  which  he  did  less  than 
justice  to  a  brave  officer— Collier.     This  led  to  the  fearful  catastrophe,  which  is  alluded  to  here, 
t  James  frequently  received  striking  criticisms  of  this  nature.     Captain  Phillimore  was 
brother  of  Dr.  Phillimore,  Government  Advocate  in  the  Admiralty  Court,  London,  and   Chan- 
cellor of  Worcester.  Oxford,  and  Bristol. — M. 


1824.]  THURTELL.  421 

North.  Excellent.  Look  at  James's  History  after  reading  that  admi 
rable  Manual,  and  you  will  get  sick. 

Shepherd.  He's  just  a  wonderfu'  man,  Soothey ;  the  best  o'  a'  the 
Lakers. 

Tickler.  Bam  the  Lakers.  Here's  some  of  the  best  Hollands  that 
ever  crossed  the  Zuyder  Zee.     Make  a  jug,  James. 

Shepherd.  Only  look,  what  has  become  of  the  supper  ?  Mr.  Tickler, 
you've  a  fearsome  appetite.  Hear — hear — there's  the  alarm-bell — and 
the  lire-drum  !  Saw  na  ye  that  flash  o'  licht?  I  hope  it  may  turn  out 
a  gude  conflagration.  Hear  till  the  ingines.  I'm  thinking  the  fire's 
on  the  North  Bridge.  I  hope  it's  no  in  my  freen'  Mr.  John  Anderson's 
shop. 

North.  I  hope  not.  Mr.  Anderson  is  a  prosperous  bibliopole,  and 
these  little  cheap  editions  of  the  Scottish  Poets,  Ramsay,  and  Burns, 
and  Grahame,  are  admirable.  The  prefaces  are  elegantly  and  judi- 
ciously written — the  text  correct — type  beautiful,  and.  embellishments 
appropriate. 

Tickler.  The  "  Fire-Eater,"  lataly  published  by  Mr.  Anderson,  is  a 
most  spirited  and  interesting  tale — full  of  bustle  and  romantic  inci- 
dents.    I  intend  to  review  it. 

Shepherd.  The  "  Fire-Eater  "  is  a  fearsome  name  for  ony  Christian ; 
but  how  can  you  twa  sit  ower  your  toddy  in  that  gait,  discussing  the 
merits  o'  beuks,  when  I  tell  you  the  whole  range  o'  buildings  yonder's 
in  a  bleeze  ? 

Enter  Mr.  Ambrose  with  the  Phrenological  Journal. 

Ambrose.  Gentlemen,  Old  Levy  the  Jew's  fur-shop  is  blazing  away 
like  a  fury,  and  threatening  to  burn  down  the  Hercules  Insurance 
OflSce. 

Tickler.  Out  with  the  candles.  I  call  this  a  very  passable  fire. 
Why,  look  here,  the  small  type  is  quite  distinct.  I  fear  the  block- 
heads will  be  throwing  water  upon  the  fire,  and  destroying  the  eflfect. 
Mr.  Ambrose,  step  over  the  way  and  report  progress. 

Shepherd.  Can  ye  see  to  read  thae  havers,  by  the  fire-flaughts,  Mr. 
Tickler? 

Tickler.  What  think  ye,  James,  of  the  following  touch  ?  "  Yet  the 
organ  of  benevolence  is  very  large  ;  and  this  is  no  contradiction,  but  a 
confirmation  of  phrenology.  Thurtell,  with  all  his  violence  and  dissi- 
pation, was  a  kind-hearted  man  !" 

Shepherd.  You're  making  that.  Nae  man  can  be  sic  a  fule  as 
write  that  down,  far  less  edit  it.  Do  they  give  any  proofs  of  his 
benevolence  ? 

Tickler.  Yes — yes.  He  once  gave  half-a-sovereign  to  an  old  bro- 
ken black-leg,  and  "upon  witnessing  a  quarrel  which  had  nearly 
ended  in  a  fight,  between  Harry  Harmer  and  Ned  Painter,  at  the  house 


499  NOCTES   AMBROSIAN^.  [April, 

of  the  former  pugilist — the  Plough  in  Smithfield — and  which  origin- 
ated through  Thurtell,  he  felt  so  much  hurt,  that  he  shed  tears  in 
reconciling  them  to  each  other !" 

Shepherd.  The  blackguard's  been  greetin'  fu'. 

Tickler  {i-eadbig).  "  His  behaviour  in  prison  was  of  so  affecting  and 
endearing  a  nature,  that  the  account  of  the  parting  scene  between  him 
and  the  jailer,  and  others  who  had  been  in  the  habit  of  great  inter- 
course with  him,  during  his  confinement,  is  affecting  enough  to  draw 
tears  from  every  one  whose  heart  is  not  made  of  stone !" 

Shepherd.  Weel,  then,  mine  is  made  o'  stane.  For  it  was  to  me 
just  perfectly  disgustful  and  loathsome.  Sir  James  Mackintosh 
broached  preceesely  my  sentiments  in  the  House  o'  Commons.  A  man 
may  weel  greet,  in  a  parting  scene  wi'  a  jailer,  when  he  is  gaun  out 
to  the  open  air  to  be  hanged,  without  ony  great  benevolence. 

TicMer.  "  His  uniform  kindness  to  Hunt,  after  Probert  had  escaped 
punishment  as  king's  evidence,  up  to  the  moment  of  his  execution, 
was  of  the  warmest  nature.  Although  Hunt  was  probably  drawn  into 
a  share  of  the  bloody  transaction  by  Thurtell,  the  affectionate  conduct 
of  Thurtell  towards  him  so  completely  overpowered  him,  that  had 
Thurtell  been  the  most  virtuous  person  upon  earth,  and  he  and  Hunt 
OF  OPPOSITE  SEXES,  Thurtell  could  not  have  rendered  himself  more 
beloved  than  every  action  of  Hunt  proved  he  was." 

Shepherd.  A  fool  and  a  phrenologist  is  a'  ae  thing,  Mr.  Tickler — I 
admit  that  noo.  Hunt  did  all  he  could  to  hang  Thurtell — Thurtell 
abused  Joe  constantly  in  prison — and  in  his  speech  frightened  him 
out  of  his  wits  by  his  horrid  faces,  as  Hunt  tells  in  his  confession  to 
Mr.  Harmer.  Ten  minutes  after  Jack  is  hanged,  Hunt  declares  that 
he  richly  deserved  it — his  whole  confession  is  full  of  hatred  (real  or 
affected)  towards  Thurtell.  During  his  imprisonment  in  the  hulks, 
his  whole  behaviour  is  reckless,  and  destitute  of  all  feeling  for  any  hu- 
man creature,  and  at  last  he  sails  off  with  curses  in  his  throat,  and 
sulky  anger  in  his  miserable  heart.  It's  a  shame  for  Dr.  Pool  to  edit 
sic  vile  nonsense,  and  I'll  speak  to  him  about  it  mysel'. 

Tickler.  Hear  the  Doctor  himself.  "  That  Thurtell,  with  a  large 
benevolence,  should  commit  such  a  deed,  was  reckoned  by  many 
completely  subversive  of  the  science.  Do  such  persons  recollect  the 
character  of  one  Othello,  drawn  by  William  Shakspeare  ?  Is  there 
no  adhesiveness,  no  generosity,  no  benevolence  in  that  mind  so  por- 
trayed by  the  poet  ?  and  was  a  more  cool  and  dehberate  murder  ever 
committed  ?" 

Shepherd.  That  beats  Tims.  Othello  compared  to  Thurtell ;  and 
what's  waur,  wee  Weare  in  the  sack  likened,  by  implication,  to  Des- 
demona !  That's  Phrenology,  is't  ?  I  canna  doubt  noo  the  story  o' 
the  Turnip. 

Tickler,  This  Phrenologist  admires  Thurtell  as  one  of  the  bravest 


1824.]  THE   FIRE.  423 

of  men.  "No  miircler,"  says  he,  "was  ever  committed  with  more 
daring."     Do  you  think  so,  James  ? 

Shepherd.  Oh  !  the  wretched  coward  !  What  bravery  was  there  in 
a  big  strong  man  inveighng  a  shilly-shally  feckless  swindler  into  a  gig, 
a'  sweddled  up  in  a  heavy  great-coat,  and  a'  at  aince,  unawares,  in  a 
dark  loan,  shooting  him  in  the  head  wi'  a  pistol  ?  And  then,  when 
the  puir  devil  was  frighted,  and  stunned,  and  half  dead,  cutting  his 
throat  wi'  a  penknife.     Dastardly  ruffian  ! 

Tickler.  "  The  last  organ  stated  as  very  large  is  Cautiousness. 
This  part  of  his  character  was  displayed  in  the  pains  he  took  to  con- 
ceal the  murder,  to  hide  the  body,  &c." 

Shepherd.  What  the  devil !  wad  ony  man  that  had  murdered 
anither  no  try  either  to  conceal  the  body,  or  to  avoid  suspicion  ? 
Was  it  ony  mark  of  caution  to  confide  in  twa  such  reprobates  as  Hunt 
and  Probert,  both  of  whom  betrayed  the  murderer  ?  Was  it  ony  mark 
o'  caution  to  tell  the  Bow  Street  officer,  when  he  was  apprehended, 
that  he  had  thrown  Weare's  watch  over  a  hedge  ?  Was  it  ony  mark 
o'  caution  to  lose  his  pistol  and  penknife  in  the  dark  ?  Was  it  ony 
mark  o'  caution  to  keep  bluidy  things  on  and  about  him,  afterwards 
for  days,  in  a  public  house  ?  Fule  and  phrenologist  are  a'  ane,  sir, 
truly  enough. 

Tickler.  "  A  martyr  could  not  have  perished  more  heroically." 

Shepherd.  That's  no  to  be  endured.  Thurtell  behaved  wi'  nae  mair 
firmness  than  ony  ither  strong-nerved  ruffian  on  the  scaff"old.  Was 
his  anxiety  about  the  length  o'  rope  like  a  martyr  ?  Naebody  be- 
haved sae  weel  at  the  last  as  the  honest  hangman. 

Tickler.  The  ass  thus  concludes  :  "  I  will  not  detain  the  reader  any 
longer ;  but  trust  enough  has  been  said  to  show,  that  if  ever  head 
confirmed  Phrenology,  it  is  the  head  of  Thurtell." 

Shepherd.  Fling  that  trash  frae  you,  and  let  us  out-by  to  the  fire. 
The  roof  of  the  house  must  be  falling  in  belyve.  Save  us,  what  a 
hum  o'  voices,  and  trampling  o'  feet,  and  hissing  o'  ingines,  and 
growling  o'  the  fire !  Let's  out  to  the  Brig,  and  see  the  rampaging 
element. 

Tickler.  You  remind  me,  Hogg,  of  Nero  surveying  Rome  on  fire, 
and  playing  on  the  harp. 

Shepherd.  Do  ye  want  a  spring  on  the  fiddle?  See  till  him, 
North's  sleeping !  Let's  out  amang  the  crowd  for  an  hour.  He'll 
never  miss  us  till  we  come  back,  and  crutches  are  no  for  a  crowd. 


424  NOCTES   AMBKOSIAN^.  [April, 


SCENE  ni. — The  North  Bridge. — Mr.  Tickler  and  the  Shepherd 
incog,  in  the  crowd. 

Tickler.  Two  to  one  on  the  fire. 

Sheioherd.  That's  a  powerfu'  ingine.  I  wad  back  the  water,  but 
there's  ower  Uttle  o't.  [Addressing  himself  generally  to  what  Pierce 
Egan  calls  the  audience) — "  Lads,  up  wi'  the  causeway,  and  get  to 
the  water-pipes." 

[The  hint  is  taken^  and  the  engines  distinguish  themselves 
greatly.) 

Tickler.  Hogg,  you  Brownie,  I  never  thought  you  were  the  man  to 
throw  cold  water  on  any  night's  good  amusement. 

Shepherd.  I'll  back  the  water,  noo,  for  a  gallon  o'  whisky. 

Tickler.  Young  woman,  it's  no  doubt  a  very  ,pretty  song  of  old 
Hector  Macneil's, — 

"  Come  un^er  my  plaidie,  the  night's  gaun  to  fa', 
There's  room  in't,  dear  lassie,  believe  me,  for  twa." 

But  still,  if  you  please,  you 'need  not  put  your  arm  under  mine,  till  I 
whisper  into  your  private  ear. 

Shepherd.  What's  the  limmer  wanting  ? 

Female.  What ! — Is  that  you,  Mr.  Hogg  ?  Ken  ye  ocht  o'  your 
friend.  Captain  Odoherty  ? 

Shepherd.  There — there's  half-a-crown  for  you — gang  about  your 
business,  you  slut — or  I'll  brain  ye.     I  ken  nae  Captain  Odoherties. 

Tickler.  I  remember,  James,  that  a  subscription-paper  was  carried 
about  a  few  years  ago,  to  raise  money  for  pulling  down  this  very 
range  of  buildings,  which  had  just  been  carried  up  at  a  considerable 
expense. 

Shepherd.  And  you  subscribed  ten  pounds  ? 

Tickler.  I  should  as  soon  have  thought  of  subscribing  ten  pounds 
for  Christianizing  Tartary. 

Shepherd.  There's  an  awfu'  wark  in  Embro'  just  now,  about  raising 
monuments  to  every  body,  great  and  small.  Did  you  hear,  sir,  o'  ane 
about  to  be  raised  to  Dubi^on  the  dentist? 

Tickler.  I  did.  It  is  to  be  a  double  statue.  Dtibisson  is  to  be  re- 
presented in  marble,  with  one  hand  grasping  a  refractory  patient  by 
the  jaw-bone,  and  with  the  other  forcibly  introducing  his  instrument 
into  the  mouth. — I  have  seen  a  sketch  of  the  design,  and  it  is  equal 
to.  the  Hercules  and  Antaeus. 

Shepherd.  Whaur's  it  to  be  erected  ? 

Tickler.  In  the  Pantheon,  to  be  sure. 

Shepherd.  Houts — it  maun  be  a  joke.  But  Mr.  Tickler,  have  you 
seen  a  plan  o'  the  monument  built  at  Alloa  to  Robert  Burns  ? 

Tickler.  Ay,  James,  there  is  some  sense  in  that.    My  friend  Thomas 


1824-]  THE   CONFLAGEATION.  425 

Hamilton's  design  is  most  beautiful,  simple,  and  impresive.  It  stands 
where  it  ought  to  stand,  and  the  gentlemen  of  Coila  deserve  every 
praise.  I  have  heard  that  a  little  money  may  be  still  needed  in  that 
quarter — very  little,  if  any  at  all.  And  I  will  myself  subscribe  five 
pounds. 

Shepherd.  So  will  I.  But  the  Monument  no  being  in  Embro',  you 
see,  nor  Mr.  Thomas  Hamilton  a  man  fond  o'  putting  himself  forward 
ane  hears  naething  about  it.  I  only  wish  he  would  design  ane  half  as 
gude  for  mysel. 

Tickler.  Ah !  my  beloved  Shepherd,  not  for  these  thirty  years  a+ 
least.  Your  worthy  father  lived  to  ninety  odd — why  not  his  son  ? 
Some  half  century  hence,  your  ^^gj  will  be  seen  on  some  bonny 
green  kno.we  in  the  Forest,  with  its  honest  brazen  face  looking  across 
St.  Mary's  Loch,  and  up  towards  the  Gray-mare's  tail,  while  by  moon- 
light all  your  own  fairies  will  weave  a  dance  round  its  pedestal. 

Shepherd  (in  amaze^nent):  My  stars  !  yonder's  Odoherty  1 

Tickler.  Who  ?— The  Adjutant  ? 

Shepherd.  Odoherty  ! — look  at  him — look  at  him — see  how  he  is 
handing  out  the  furniture  through  the  window,  on  the  third  flat  of  an 
adjoining  tenement.  How  the  deevil  got  he  there !  Weel,  siccan  a 
deevil  as  that  Odoherty  ! — and  him,  a'  the  time,  out  o'  Embro',  as  I 
hae't  under  his  ain  hand  ! 

Tickler.  There  is  certainly  something  very  exhilarating  in  a  scene 
of  this  sort.  I  am  a  Guebir,  or  Fire-worshipper.  Observe,  the  crowd 
are  all  in  most  prodigious  spirits.  Now,  had  it  been  a  range  of  houses 
tenanted  by  poor  men,  there  would  have  been  no  merriment.  But 
Mr.  Levy  is  a  Jew — rich  probably — and  no  doubt  insured.  Therefore, 
all  is  mirth  and  jollity. 

Shepherd.  Insurance  offices,  too,  are  a'  perfect  banks,  and  ana  canna 
help  enjoying  a  bit  screed  afi"  their  profits.  My  gallon  o'  whisky's 
gane ;  the  fire  has  got  it  a'  its  ain  way  noo, — and  as  the  best  o'  the 
bleeze  is  ower,  we  may  return  to  Ambrose's. 

Tickler.  Steady — there  was  a  pretty  tongue  of  fire  flickering  out  of 
the  fourth  story.  The  best  is  to  come  yet.  What  a  contemptible  af- 
fair is  an  illumination  ! 

Shepherd.  Ye  may  say  that — wi'  an  auld  hizzie  at  every  window, 
left  at  hame  to  watch  the  candle-doups. 

Stranger  (to  the  Shepherd).  Sir,  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  you  seem 
to  be  an  amateur  ? 

Shepherd.  No,  sir,  I  am  a  marned  man,  with  two  children. 

Stranger.  'Tis  a  very  so-so  fire.     I  regret  having  left  bed  for  it. 

Shepherd.  What !  were  you  siccan  a  fule  as  leave  your  warm  bed 
for  a  fire  ?  I'm  thinking  you'll  be  nae  mair  an  amateur  than  mysel, 
but  a  married  man. 

Stranger.  I  have  seen,  sir,  some  of  the  first  fires  in  Europe.     Drury- 


426  NOCTES   AMBROSIANiE. 


[April, 


Lane,  and  Covent-Garden  Theatres,  each  burned  down  twice — Opera- 
house  twice — property  to  the  amount  of  a  million  at  the  West  India 
Docks — several  successful  cotton-mill  incremations  of  merit  at  Man- 
chester— two  explosions  (one  with  respectable  loss  of  life)  of  powder- 
mills — and  a  very  fine  conflagration  of  shipping-  at  Bristol. 

Shepherd.  Mr.  Tickler — heard  ye  ever  the  like  ? 

Tickler.  Never,  Hogg. 

Shepherd.  I'm  the  Ettrick  Shepherd — and  this  is  Mr.  Tickler,  sir. 

Stranger.  What !  can  I  trust  my  ears — am  I  in  presence  of  two  of 
the  men  who  have  set  the  whole  world  on  fire  ? 

Shepherd.  Yes — you  are,  sir,  sure  enough,  and  yonder's  the  Adju- 
tant Odoherty,  wi'  his  face  a'  covered  wi'  coom,  getting  sport  up  yonder, 
and  doing  far  mair  harm  than  good,  that's  certain.  But  will  you  come 
with  us  to  Ambrose's  ?  Whare  is  he,  Tickler  ? — whare  is  he  ?  Whare's 
the  gentleman  gone  ? 

Tickler.  I  don't  know.  Look  at  your  watch,  James.  What  is  the 
hour  ? 

Shepherd  i^fumhling  about  his  fob).  My  watch  is  gone  !  my  watch 
is  gone  ! — he  has  picket  my  pocket  o'  her  ! — Deevil  burn  him ! — I 
niftered  wi'  Baldy  Bracken,  in  the  Grass-market,  the  day  before  yester- 
day, and  she  didna  lose  a  minute  in  the  twenty-four.  This  is  a  bad 
job — let  us  back  to  Ambrose's.     I'll  never  see  her  face  again. 

SCENE  lY .—The  Banqueting-Room. 
North  [solus,  and  asleep). 
Enter  on  tiptoe  Mr.  Ambrose. 

Mr.  Ambrose.  This  fire  has  made  me  anxious  about  my  premises. 
All  right.  He  is  fast  as  a  nail ;  and  snores  (first  time  I  ever  heard 
him)  like  the  rest  of  his  species.  Bless  my  soul  I — the  window  is  open 
at  his  very  ear.     [Pulls  down  the  sash.) 

North  {awakening).  Ambrose  !  I  have  had  a  congelating  dream. 
Ice  a  foot  thick  in  my  wash-hand  basin,  and  an  icicle  six  inches  long 
at  my  nose ! 

Ambrose.  I  am  glad  to  have  awakened  you,  sir.  Shall  I  bring  you 
a  little  mulled  port  ? 

North.  No — no — Ambrose.  Wheel  me  towards  the  embers.  I  hear 
it  reported,  Ambrose,  that  you  are  going  to  gut  the  tenement. — Is  it 
so? 

Ambrose.  It  is  an  ancient  building,  Mr.  North,  and  somewhat  incom- 
modious. During  the  summer  months  it  will  undergo  a  great  change 
and  thorough  repair. 


1824.]  GTJTTING   THE   HOUSE.  427 

North.  Well,  well,  Ambrose,  I  rejoice  to  know  that  a  change  is  de- 
manded by  the  increase  of  resort ;  but  yet,  methinks,  I  shall  con 
template  any  alteration  with  a  pensive  and  melancholy  spirit.  This 
very  room,  Mr.  Ambrose,  within  whose  four  walls  I  have  been  so  often 
lately,  must  its  dimensions  be  changed  ?  Will  this  carpet  be  lifted  ? 
That  chimney-piece  be  removed  ?  I  confess  that  the  thought  affects 
me,  Mr.  Ambrose.     Forgive  the  pensive  tear. 

{Takes  out  his  square  of  India ^  and  blows  his  nose  in  a 
hurried  and  agitated  manner.) 

Ambrose.  Mr.  North,  I  have  frequently  thought  of  all  this,  and 
rather  than  hurt  your  feelings,  sir,  I  will  let  the  house  remain  as  it  is. 
I  beseech  you,  sir,  be  composed. 

North.  No  !  "  Ambrose,  thou  reasonest  well,"  it  must  be  so.  The 
whole  city  undergoeth  change  deep  and  wide,  and  wherefore  should 
Gabriel's  Road,  and  the  Land  of  Ambrose,  be  alone  immutable  ?  Down 
with  the  partitions  !  The  mind  soon  reconciles  itself  to  the  loss  of 
what  it  most  dearly  loved.  But  the  Chaldee  Chamber,  Ambrose  ! 
the  Chaldee  Chamber,  Ambrose ! — must  it  go — must  it  go,  indeed, 
and  be  swallowed  up  in  some  great  big  wide  unmeaning  room,  desti- 
tute alike  of  character  and  comfort,,  without  one  high  association 
hanging  on  its  blue  or  yellow  walls  ? 

Ambrose.  No,  Mr.  North ;  rather  than  alter  the  Chaldee  Chamber, 
would  I  see  the  whole  of  Edinburgh  involved  in  one  general  conflagra- 
tion. 

North.  Enough — enough — now  my  mind  is  at  rest.  With  ham- 
mers, and  with  axes  both,  let  the  workmen  forthwith  fall  to.  You 
must  keep  pace,  Mr.  Ambrose,  with  the  progress,  the  advancement  of 
the  age. 

Ambrose.  Sir,  I  have  been  perfectly  contented,  hitherto,  with  the  ac- 
commodation this  house  affords,  and  so,  I  humbly  hope,  have  been  my 
ft'iends ;  but  I  owe  it  to  those  friends  to  do  all  I  can  to  increase  their 
comforts,  and  I  have  got  a  plan  that  I  think  will  please  you,  sir. 

North.  Better,  Ambrose,  than  that  of  the  British  itself.  But  no 
more.  Think  you  the  lads  will  return  ?  If  not,  I  must  hobble  home- 
wards. 

Ambrose.  Hearken,  sir — Mr.  Tickler's  tread  in  the  trance. 

(Exit  susurrans.) 

Enter  Tickler  a,nd  the  Shepherd. 

Tickler.  Have  you  supped,  North  ? 

North.  Not  I,  indeed.     Ambrose,  bring  supper.     [Exit  Ambrose.) 

'The  Shepherd.  I  think  I  wull  rather  take  some  breakfast.  Mr.  North, 
I'm  thinking  you're  sleepy;  for  you're  lookin'  unco  gash.  Do  you 
want  an  account  o'  the  fire  ? 

North.  Certainly  not.     Mr.  Ambrose  and  I  were  engaged  in  a  very 


428  NOCTES   AlIBEOSIA^^.  [April, 

interesting  conversation  when  you  entered.     We  were  discussing  the 
merits  of  the  Exhibition. 

The  Shepherd.  O'  the  pictures  ?  I  was  there  the  day.  Oh  !  man,  yon 
things  o'  Wulkie's  are  chief  endeavoors.  That  ane  frae  the  Gentle 
Shepherd,  is  just  nature  hersel.  I  wush  he  would  illustrate  in  that 
gait,  some  o'  the  bonniest  scenes  in  the  Queen's  Wake. 

Tickler.  Worth  all  the  dull  dirty  daubs  of  all  the  Dutchmen  that 
ever  vomited  into  a  canal.  Nauseous  ninnies  !  a  coarse  joke  may  pass 
in  idle  talk — a  word  and  away — but  think,  James,  of  a  human  being- 
painting  filth  and  folly,  dirt  and  debauchery,  vulgarity  and  vileness, 
day  after  day,  month  after  month,  till  he  finally  covered  the  canvas 
Avith  all  the  accumulated  beastliness  of  his  most  drunken  and  sensual 
imagination ! 

North.  Stop,  Tickler — remember  Teniers,  and 

The  Shepherd.  Remember  nae  sic  fallow,  Mr.  Tickler;  Wulkie's 
wee  finger's  worth  the  hail  o'  them.  "Duncan  Gray  cam  here  to 
woo,"  is  sae  gude,  that  it's  maist  unendurable.  Yon's  the  bonniest  lass 
ever  I  saw  in  a'  my  born  days.  What  a  sonsy  hawse  !  But  indeed, 
she's  a'  alike  parfite. 

TicMer.  Stop  Shepherd,  remember.  I  saw  a  Cockney  to-day  look- 
ing at  that  picture,  and  oh  !  what  a  contrast  between  the  strapping 
figure  of  Duncan  Gray,  his  truly  pastoral  physiognomy,  well-filled  top- 
boots,  (not  unlike  your  own,)  and  sinewy  hands  that  seem  alike  ready 
for  the  tug  of  either  love  or  war — and  the  tout-ensemble  of  that  most 
helpless  of  all  possible  creatures ! 

North.  John  Watson  is  great  this  year.  Happy  man,  to  whom  that 
beautiful  creature  (picture  of  a  Lady)  may  be  inditing'  a  soft  epistle ! 
What  innocence,  simplicity,  grace  and  gaiete  du  coeur  !  Why,  if  that 
sweet  damosel  would  think  of  an  old  man  hke  the. 

The  Shepherd.  Haud  youj-  tongue.  Why  should  she  think  o'  an 
auld  man?     "Ye  might  be  her  gutcher,  you're  threescore  and  twa." 

TicMer.  Mr.  Thomson  of  Duddingston  is  tlie  best  landscape-painter 
Scotland  ever  produced — better  than  either  Nasmyth,  or  Andrew  Wil- 
son, or  Greek  Williams. 

North.  Not  so  fast,  Tickler.  Let  us  discuss  the  comparative 
merits 

The  Shepherd.  Then  I'm  aff".  For  o'  a'  the  talk  in  this  world,  that 
about  pictures  is  the  warst.  I  wud  say  that  to  the  face  o'  the  Director- 
General  himsel. 

North.  A  hint  from  my  Theocritus  is  suflScient.  What  think  you, 
Bion,  of  this  parliamentary  grant  of  £300,000  for  repairing  old  Wind- 
sor % 

The  Shepherd.  I  never  saw  the  Great  House  o'  Windsor  Palace, 
but  it  has  been  for  ages  the  howf  o'  kings,  and  it  maunna  be  allowed  to 
gang  back.     If  £300,000  winna  do,  gie  a  million.     Man,  if  I  was 


1824.]  THE   NOETH   POLE.  429 

but  in  Parliament,  I  would  gie  the  niggarts  tlieir  fairings.     Grudge  a 
king  a  palace ! 

North.  What  say  you,  my  good  Shepherd,  to  a  half  million  more 
for  churches  ? 

Shepherd.  Mr.  North,  you  and  Mr.  Tickler  is  aiblins  laughing  at 
me,  and  speering  questions  at  me,  that  you  may  think  are  out  o'  my 
way  to  answer ;  but,  for  a'  that,  I  perhaps  ken  as  weel's  either  o'  you, 
what's  due  to  the  religious  establishments  of  a  great  and  increasing 
kintra,  wi'  a  population  o'  twal  millions,  mair  or  less,  in  or  owre.  Isn't 
it  sae  ? 

North.  Well  said,  James,  This  is  not  the  place,  perhaps,  to  talk 
much  of  these  serious  matters  ;  but  no  ministry  will  ever  stand  the 
lower  in  the  estimation  of  their  country,  for  having  enabled  some 
hundred  thousands  more  of  the  people  to  worship  their  Maker  publicly 
once  a-week. 

Shepherd.  I'm  thinking  no.  IN^ane  o'  the  Opposition  wad  oppose  a 
grant  o'  half  a  million  for  bigging  schools,  the  mair's  their  merit ;  and 
if  sae,  what  for  no  kirks  ?  Edication  and  religion  should  gang  hand  in 
hand.  That's  aye  been  my  thocht.  {Enter  Ambrose,  with  supper.) 
Howsomever,  here's  sooper ;  and  instead  o'  talking  o'  kirks,  let  us  a' 
gang  oftener  till  them.  Put  down  the  sassages  afore  me,  Ambrose. 
Ye're  looken  unco  weel  the  noo,  man  ;  I  hardly  ever  saw  ye  sae  fat. 
How  is  the  mistress  and  the  bairns  ? 

Ambrose.  All  well,  sir,  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Hogg. 

The  Shepherd.  Od,  man,  I  wush  you  would  come  out  at  the  preach- 
ings, when  the  town's  thin,  and  see  us  at  Altrive. 

Atnbrose.  I  fear  it  is  quite  impossible  for  me  to  leave  town,  Mr. 
Hogg ;  but  I  shall  always  be  most  happy  to  see  you  here,  sir. 

The  Shepherd.  I've  been  in  your  house  a  hunder  and  a  hunder 
times,  and  you  ken  I  lodged  ance  in  the  flat  aboon  ;  and  never  did  I 
hear  ony  noise,  or  row.  Or  rippet,  below  your  rigging.  I  dinna  repent 
a  single  hour  I  ever  sat  here  ;  I  never  saw  or  heard  naething  said  or 
done  here  that  michtna  been  said  or  done  in  a  minister's  manse.  But 
it's  waxing  early,  and  I  ken  you  dinna  keep  untimeous  hours  ;  so  let 
us  devoor  supper,  and  be  afF.     That  fire  taigled  us. 

North.  I  had  been  asleep  for  an  hour,  before  mine  host  awakened 
me,  and  had  a  dream  of  the  North  Pole. 

The  Shepherd.  North  Pole  !  How  often  do  you  think  Captain 
Parry  intends  howking  his  way  through  these  icebergs,  wi'  the  snout 
o'  his  discovery  ships  ?  May  he  never  be  frozen  up  at  last,  h^  and  a' 
his  crew,  in  thae  dismal  regions ! 

North.  Have  you  read  Franklin  and  Richardson  ? 
The  Shepherd.  Yes,  I  hae.     Yon  was  terrible.     Day  after  day  nae- 
thing to  eat  but  tripe  afF  the  rocks,  dry  banes,  auld  shoon,  and  a  god- 


430 


NOCTES   AMBROSIAN^. 


[April, 


send  o'  a  pair  of  leathern  breeches  !  What  would  they  no  hae  given 
for  sic  a  sooper  as  this  here  ! 

Tickler.  Have  you  no  intention,  James,  of  going  on  the  next  land- 
expedition  ? 

The  Shepherd.  Na,  na  ;  I  canna  do  without  vittals.  I  was  ance  for 
twenty  hours  without  tasting  a  single  thing  but  a  bit  cheese  and  half 
a  bannock,  and  I  was  close  upon  the  fainting.  Yet  I  would  like  to 
see  the  North  Pole. 

Tickler.  Where's  your  chronometer,  eTames  ? 

The  Shepherd.  Whisht,  whisht ;  I  ken  that  lang-nebbit  word. 
Whisht,  whisht.  Safe  us !  is  that  cauld  lamb  ? — We'll  no  hae  lamb 
in  Yarrow  for  a  month  yet. 

Tickler.  Come,  North,  bestir  yourself,  you're  staring  like  an  owl  in 
a  consumption.     Tip  us  A,  my  old  boy. 

The  Shepherd.  Mr.  Tickler,  Mr.  Tickler,  what  langish  is  that  to  use 
till  Mr.  North  ?     Think  shame  o'  yoursel'. 

North.  No  editor,  James,  is  a  hero  to  his  contributors. 

The  Shepherd.  Weel,  weel,  I  for  ane  will  never  forget  my  respect 
for  Mr.  Christopher  North.  He  has  lang  been  the  support  o'  the  liter- 
ature, the  pheelosophy,  the  religion,  and  what's  o'  as  great  importance 
as  ony  thing  else,  the  gude  manners  o'  the  kintra. 

Tickler.  Forgive  me,  North, — forgive  me,  James.  Come,  I  volun- 
teer a  song. 

The  Shepherd.  A  sang !  Oh  man,  you're  a  bitter  bad  singer — 
timmer-tuned,  though  a  decent  ear.     Let's  hear  the  lilt. 


Come    draw     me     six   mag-nums  of 


ret,    Don't  spare  it, 


"^^^^^^^^^^A 


share  it       in   bum  -  pers  a  -  round  ;    And  take  care  that  in     each  shin  -  ing 


way 


Fill     a  -    way !      Fill       a    -    way  !       Fill    bum-pars    to 


1824.] 


DEINK   AWAY. 


431 


:^=p= 


9—0- 


-N !- 


* 


t=^- 


=1^-^ 


those  that  you    love,     For    we     will  be     hap  -  py      to  -  day !      As     the 


-» — ^- 


P^^f^ 


S^P^ESE 


^ — 


f± 


fetEE^ 


0-^-0 


1 


gods  are  when  drinking  a  -  bove.        Drink  a  -  way  !       Drink  a  -  way 


Give  way  to  each  thought  of  your  fancies, 

That  dances, 
Or  glances,  or  looks  of  the  fair  ; 
And  beware  that  from  fears  of  to-morrow 

You  borrow 
1^0  sorrow,  nor  foretaste  of  care. 
Drink  away,  drink  away,  drink  away! 

For  the  honor  of  those  you  adore  : 
Come,  charge!  and  drink  fairly  to-day. 
Though  you  swear  you  will  never  drink  more. 


I  last  night,  cut,  and  quite  melancholy, 

Cried  folly ! 
"What's  Polly  to  reel  for  her  fame  ? 
Yet  I'll  banish  such  hint  till  the  morning, 

And  scorning 
Such  warning  to-night,  do  the  same. 
Drink  away,  drink  away,  drink  away ! 

'Twill  banish  blue  devils  and  pain  ; 
And  to-night  for  my  joys  if  I  pay, 

"Why,  to-morrow  I'll  go  it  again. 

Enter  Mr.  Ambrose,  with  alarm. 

Mr.  Ambrose.  As  I  live,  sir,  here's  Mr.  Odoberty.     Shall  I  say 
you  are  here,  for  he  is  in  a  wild  humor  ? 

Enter  Odoherty,  singing. 

I've  kiss'd  and  I've  prattled  with  fifty  fair  maids, 
And  changed  them  as  oft,  do  ye  see,  <fec. 

(North  and  TicJcler  rise  to  go.) 
Odoherty.  What,  bolting  ? 

The  Shepherd.  Ay,  ay,  late  hours  disna   agree  wi'  snawy  pows. 
But  I'se  sit  an  hour  wi'  you. 

(The  Adjutant  and  the  Shepherd  embrace.    North  and 
Tickler  disappear^ 


432 


No.  XV.— JUNE,  1824. 


Present — Timothy  Tickler,  Esq.,  ExsiaN  Odoherty,  the  Ettrick 
Shepherd,  a7id  Mr.  Jonathan  Spiers. 

Odoherty.  Yes,  Tickler,  you  are,  after  all,  quite  in  the  right — I  took 
the  other  side  merely  for  the  sake  of  conversation. 

Tickler,  Ay,  and  if  ray  young  friend  here  had  happened  to  be 
called  away  half-an-hour  ago — ay,  or  if  I  had  happened  not  to  be 
in  the  exact  humor  for  squabashing,  and  particularly  for  squabashing 
you — what  would  have  been  the  consequence,  Mr.  Morgan  ? — what 
would  have  been  the  consequence,  you  care-me-devil  ? 

Odoherty.  Why,  I  suppose,  I  should  have  helped  to 

"  Give  to  the  press  one  preux-chevalier  more," 

as  the  old  zig-zag  of  Twickenham  says,  or  ought  to  say.  Pope  was 
decidedly  the  Z  of  Queen  Anne's  time* — his  dunces  were  the  pro- 
genitors of  the  present  Cockneys. 

Hogg.  Wheesht — wheesht — for  heaven's  sake  dinna  name  thae 
creatures  again — I'm  sure  they're  doon  enough  at  ony  rate.  But 
really,  Mr.  Tickler,  are  ye  no  ower  hasty  ? — Od,  man,  {whispering 
Timothy^)  the  lad  might  have  turned  out  a  genius. 

Tickler.  No  whispering  at  Ambrose's,  Hogg.  Here,  Jonathan,  boy 
— here's  the  Great  Boar  of  the  Forest  grunting  in  my  ear,  that  we 
may  be  spoiling  a  genius  in  your  honorable  person.  What  say  ye 
to  this,  my  hearty  ? — Do  you  really  now — but  sans  phrase  now — do 
you  really  take  yourself  to  be  a  genius  ? 

Hogg  {aside  to  Odoherty).  He  takes  his  toddy  brawlie,  at  ony 
rate. 

Odoherty.  Hogg  remarks  that  our  youthful  friend  is  a  promising 
punchifier.  But  this,  even  this,  I  fear,  may  still  leave  the  matter  a 
little  dubious — hihimus  indocti  doctique. 

Hogg.  Jeering  at  me,  I  daursay — but  what  signifies  that  ?  Here, 
Mr.  Jonathan,  you're  a  very  fine  douce  lad — never  ye  heed  what  thae 
proud-nosed  chiels  tell  you — put  out  the  poem  or  the  novell — whilk 
of  them  said  ye  it  was  ? 

Mr.  Spiers.  A  romantic  tale,  sir,  interspersed  with  verses. 

*  The  articles  in  Blackwood  against  Hunt,  Hazlitt,  &c.,  were  signed  "  Z." — M. 


June,  1824.]  THE   OHAIJDEE   MS.  433 

Hogg.  Is  there  a  gay  feck  o'  verses  ? 

Mn.  Spiers.  A  considerable  number,  sir.  Several  ot  tue  charac- 
ters, sir,  give  vent  to  their  feelings  in  a  poetical  form,  sir. 

Hogg.  Ay,  that's  a  glide  auld  fashion.  A  real  novell  young  leddy 
has  aye  her  keelavine  in  her  pouch,  and  some  bit  back  of  a  letter,  or 
auld  mantuamaker's  count,  or  something  or  other,  to  put  down  her 
bit  sonnet  on,  just  after  she's  been  stolen,  or  robbed,  or,  what's  waur, 
maybe 

Tickler.  Hold  your  tongue,  Hogg.  Jonathan  Spiers'  book  is  a  very 
pretty  book,  I  assure  you — and  his  verses  are  very  well  introduced — • 
very  well  indeed. 

Odoherty.  Why,  Hogg  himself,  in  one  of  his  recent  masterpieces, 
has  given  the  finest  example  of  the  easy  and  unaffected  introduction 
of  the  ornament  of  occasional  verse,  in  a  prose  romance. 

Tickler  {aside  to  Odoherty).  I  forget  what  you  are  alluding  to. 
Is  this  in  the  "  Confessions  of  the  Justified  Sinner,"  which  I  see  ad- 
vertised ? 

Odoherty.  No,  'tis  in  the  "Three  Perils  of  Man."  One  of  the  chief 
characters  of  that  work  is  a  bond  fide  poet,  and  this  personage  never 
opens  his  mouth,  but  out  comes  a  boncL  fide  regular  psalm  measure 
stanza  of  four  lines.  In  the  Pirate,  to  be  sure,  old  Noma  spouts  most 
unconscionably ;  but  even  she  must  knock  under  to  the  poet  of  Hogg. 

Tickler  {rings — enter  Ambrose).  Mr.  Ambrose,  have  you  the  Three 
Perils  of  Man  in  the  house?     If  yea,  bring  them  forthwith. 

Ambrose  {indignantly).  Sir,  Mr.  Hogg's  works  form  a  part  of  the 
standing  furniture  of  the  tap-room. 

Odoherty  {aside).  Standing  furniture,  I  will  be  sworn. 

Ambrose.  I  rather  think  Mr.  Macmurdo,  the  great  drover  from 
Angus,  has  one  of  the  volumes  just  now;  but  he  seemed  getting  very 
drowsy,  and  I  shall  perhaps  be  able  to  extract  it.  {Exit) 

Hogg  {aside).  Honest  man  !  he's  surely  been  sair  forfaughten  the 
day  at  the  market. 

Odoherty.  Hogg  has  another  character  in  the  same  book — a  priest; 
and  what  think  ye  is  his  dialect  ?     Why,  pure  Chaldee,  to  be  sure. 

Tickler.  Chaldee  manuscript,  you  mean,  I  suppose.  Well,  I  see  no 
harm  in  this. 

Hogg.  It's  a'  perfect  nature.  If  I  liked  I  could  speak  nothing  but 
poetry — deil  a  hait  of  prose — frae  month's  end  to  month's  end.  It 
would  come  like  butter. 

Odoherty.  In  a  lordly  dish,  to  be  sure.  Come,  Hogg,  I  take  you 
at  your  word.     Stick  to  your  psalm-tune  then. 

Hogg. 

N"ow  steadfastly  adhere  will  I, 
Nor  swerve  from  this  again. 
But  speak  in  measured  melody 
For  ever  more.     Amen ! 
VOL.  T.  19 


4:84:  NOCTES   AMBKOSIANiE.  [June, 

Tickler.  Hurra !  Hogg  for  ever !  that's  a  thumping  exordium,  James. 
Could  you  match  him  there,  Jonathan  ? 

There  is  no  poet,  no,  not  one, 

jS^or  yet  no  poetess, 
"Whose  ready  rhymes  like  those  can  run, 

Which  my  lips  do  express. 
Yea,  all  the  day  continually 

Out  from  my  mouth  they  go. 
Like  river  that  not  waxeth  dry. 

But  his  waves  still  do  flow. 
Sith  it  be  so  that  Og,  the  King 

Of  Bash  an 

Tickler.  Oomc,  Hogg,  in  virtue  of  the  power  which  Christopher 
gave  me  when  he  took  the  gout,  you  are  absolved,  and  hereby  I  do 
absolve  you.  One  rhyme  more,  you  great  pig,  and  I'll  have  you  scald- 
ed on  the  spot. 

IIog(/.  The  pitcher's  getting  cauld,  at  ony  rate.  Ye  had  better  ring, 
and  bid  Ambrose  have  on  the  big  boiler  at  ance.  And  as  for  you, 
Jonathan  Spiers,  they  were  deaving  us  wi'  saying  there  was  nae  open- 
ing in  the  literary  world.    Me  away,  that  canna  be  said,  my  braw  lad. 

Odoherty.  Come,  Hogg,  a  joke's  a  joke — we've  had  enough  of  this* 
There  is  no  opening  in  the  literary  world. 

Hogg.  Weel,  Jonathan,  if  Byron  and  me  canna  make  an  opening 
between  us,  I'm  thinking  ye  maun  just  ca'  canny,  and  wait  till  ye  see 
out  Odoherty  and  the  Author  of  Waverley — I  reckon  them  about  the 
next  to  Byron  and  me. 

Tickler  {aside).  Either  of  their  little  fingers  well  worth  you  both. 
But,  however — Come,  Hogg,  supposing  Jonathan  really  to  reject  my 
poor  advice,  what  would  be  your  counsel  ?  Come  now,  remember  'tis 
a  serious  concern  : — so  be  for  once  the  sagacious  master  of  the  sagacious 
Hector. 

Hogg.  I  would  be  for  Jonathan  ivjing  a  good,  rousing,  independent 
Tory  paper.  Deil  a  paper  I  see's  worth  lighting  one's  pipe  wi'.  It 
would  surely  do. 

Tickler.  I  dare  say  Jonathan's  ambition  aimed  at  rather  higher  con- 
cerns ;  but  no  matter,  what  have  you  to  say  against  the  papers.  Jemmy? 

Hogg.  Just  that  they're  a'  clean  trash — the  Scots  anes,  I  mean. 
There's  the  Scotsman — it  was  lang  the  only  ane  that  had  ony  bit  spice 
of  the  deevil  in't,  and  it's  noo  turned  as  douce  and  as  doited  as  the  very 
warst  of  them,  since  that  creature  turned  Ricardo  Professor,  or  what 
ca'  ye't.  He  was  a  real  dour,  ugly,  sulky  beast,  but  still  he  was  a 
beast ;  now  they're  mere  dirt  the  lavo  o'  Uiem — ^just  the  beast's  leav- 
ings— perfect  dirt. 

Odoherty.  What  say  ye  to  the  Weekly  Journal,  James  ? 


1824.]  "  THE   BEACON.''  435 

Hogg.  Too — too — too — too — too  !  By'r  Lady,  good  Master  Lieu- 
tenant— too  ! — too  ! — too  ! — too  ! — too  ! — pheugh  ! 

Tickler.  The  Courant,  Hogg  ? 

Hogg.  An  edificationing  paper,  I'll  no  deny.  It  has  a'  the  farms  and 
roups.     I  couldna  do  without  the  Courant. 

Tickler.  What  sort  of  paper  did  you  wish  Jonathan  to  set  up — a 
Beacon,'*  perhaps. 

Hogg.  A  Beacon  !  Gude  pity  us,  Timotheus, — are  you  gaun  de- 
mentit  a'thegither  ?  I  thought  ye  said  Jonathan  was  a  prudent,  quiet, 
respectable  laddie — wishing  to  make  his  way  in  the  warld — and  "your 
ain  sense  tells  you,"  as  Meg  Dods  says  about  the  lad  remaining  in  the 
room  with  Miss  Mowbray,  that,  though  your  Antijacobins,  and  John 
Bulls,  and  Twopenny  Post-Bags,  and  sae  on,  do  very  weel  in  the  great 
Babel  of  Lunnun,  the  like  o'  thae  things  are  quite  heterogeneous  in 
this  small  atmosphere  of  the  Edinbro'  meridian — the  folk  here  canna 
thole't . 

Tickler.  Jonathan  might  try  a  good  daily  paper  in  London — that  is 
much  wanted  at  present.  Indeed,  a  new  one  is  wanted  every  three  or 
four  years ;  for  the  chaps  that  succeed  soon  get  too  rich  and  fat  for 
their  business.  Stoddart  is  quite  a  Bourbon  man  now.  The  Courier 
is  verging  to  conciliation. 

Odoherty.  By  the  by,  some  dandies  always  pronounce  Courier,  as 
if  it  were  a  French  word,  Courie.  Did  you  hear  our  friend  Peter's  joke 
upon  this  at  Inverness  ? 

Tickler.  Not  I.  '  What  was  it  ? 

Odoherty.  Why,  a  young  Whig  wit  asked  some  witness  before  the 
venerable  Jury  Court,  "  Are  you  in  the  habit  of  taking  in  the  Courie, 
sir  ?"  Upon  this,  Patrick,  in  cross-examination,  says,  "  Are  you  in  the 
habit,  sir,  of  taking  in  the  Morning  Po —  ,^" 

Tickler.  Very  well,  Peter ! — but  enough  of  the  papers.  I  wonder 
you,  Odoherty,  don't  think  of  patching  up  the  Memoirs  of  Byron — you 
could  easily  guess  what  sort  of  stuff  they  were ;  and,  at  any  rate,  an 
edition  of  10,000  would  sell  ere  the  trick  could  be  discovered. 

Odoherty.  Why,  I  flatter  myself,  if  it  were  discovered,  the  book 

*  *'  The  Beacon"  was  a  newspapei-,  the  publication  of  which  commenced  in  Edinburgh  in 
January,  1821,  and  was  abruptly  discontinued  in  August  of  the  same  year.  Ths  sympathy 
felt  in  Scotland  for  Queen  Caroline,  in  1820,  would  lead,  it  was  feared,  to  the  extension  of 
antipathy  towards  her  husband,  George  IV.  and  his  ministers.  The  Edinburgh  Tories  sub- 
scribed money  to  establish  a  strong  newspaper  on  their  own  side, — a  publication  even  more 
personal  and  libellous  than  the  London  John  Bull  was  produced,  and  when,  at  last — after 
being  suddenly  put  an  end  to — The  Beacon  was  noticed  in  Parliament,  it  was  shown, 
that  even  the  Law-officers  of  the  Crown  were  part  proprietors  !  On  its  ashes  arose  The  Glas- 
gow Sentinel,  principally  edited  by  the  late  Robert  Alexander,  (afterwards  of  the  London 
3forning  Journal  and  the  Liverpool  ifail,)  a  powerful,  but  indiscreet  writer.  More  person- 
alities than  had  made  the  Beacon  notorious  were  introduced,  and  the  end  was  that  an  edito- 
rial quarrel  resulted  in  the  betrayal  or  theft  of  a  box  of  MSS.,  by  which  the  late  Sir  Alex- 
ander Boswell  of  Auchinleck  (son  of  Johnson's  biographer)  was  discovered  to  be  author  of 
certain-  truculent  pasquinades  against  James  Stuart  of  Dunearn,  who  challenged  and  shot 
him. — M. 


436  NOOTES   AMBROSIAN^.  [June, 

would  still  be  good  enough  to  sell  on  its  own  bottom."^  But  the  book- 
sellers are  turning  so  deucedly  squeamish  now  a-days,  there's  really  no 
opening  for  a  little  fair  quizzification.  There  was  Hook  went  to  Col- 
burn  about  his  Foote  ;  Colburn  remarked,  it  was  a  pity  there  was  none 
of  Foote's  private  correspondence  to  be  got  hold  of.  "  Pooh,  pooh  !" 
quoth  Theodore,  "  I'll  make  a  volume  of  it  in  three  weeks."  Colburn 
took  fright  at  this,  and  the  thing  stopped.  What  a  pity  now  !  Would 
not  the  letters  have  been  all  the  better  for  being  not  Foote's  but  the 
Grand-Master's  ? 

Tickler.  To  be  sure  they  would ;  and,  after  the  Memoirs  of  Byron 
that  Colburn  did  publish — old  paste-and-scissors  work — he  need  not 
have  been  quite  so  sensitive,  I  would  have  thought.  But  there's  no 
saying  as  to  these  people.  Colburn's  getting  deuced  rich  upon  the 
Literary  Gazette,  Lady  Morgan,  The  Writer  Tarn,  and  the  rest  of  these 
great  Guns  of  his,  I  have  a  notion. 

Odoherty.  To  be  sure  he  is.  But,  as  for  Byron's  Memoirs,  why,  I 
can  tell  you  I  have  read  the  book  myself,  twice  over;  and,  what  is 
more,  you  will  read  it  yourself  within  a  month  or  six  weeks'  time  of 
this  present. 

Tickler.  Ay  ? — how  ?— -indeed  ? — Well,  you  surprise  me  ! 

Odoherty.  Why,  the  fact  is,  that  the  work  had  been  copied,  for  the 
private  reading  of  a  great  lady  in  Florence  ;  and  it  is  well  known  in 
London,  that  Galignani  has  bought  the  MS.,  and  that  it  will  be  out  in 
Paris  forthwith.!     But  is  this  really  news  for  you  ? 

Hogg.  It's  news — and  blythe  news  too — to  me,  for  ane.  But,  I  say, 
Ensign,  speak  truth  now — am  I  mentioned  ? 

Odoherty.  Frequently. 

Hogg.  Dear  me  !  what  does  he  says  of  me  ? — nae  ill,  I'll  'be  sworn 
— I  aye  took  his  part,  I'm  sure. 

*  At  that  time,  had  he  been  so  minded,  Maginn  (Odoherty)  could  have  got  up  a  popular  Life  of 
Byron  as  well  as  most  men  in  England.  Immediately  on  the  account  of  Byron's  death  being 
received  in  London,  John  Murray  proposed  that  Maginn  should  bring  out  Memoirs,  Journals, 
and  Letters  of  Lord  Byron,  and,  with  this  intent,  placed  in  his  hands  every  line  that  he  (Mur- 
ray) possessed  of  Byron's  handwriting.  Whatever,  therefore,  is  here  put  into  Odoherty's 
mouth,  may  be  taken  as  authentic.  The  strong  desire  of  Byron's  family  and  executors  that 
the  Autobiography  should  be  burned,  to  which  desire  Murray  foolishly  yielded,  made  such  an 
hiatus  in  the  materials  that  Murray  and  Maginn  agreed  it  would  not  answer  to  bring  out  the 
work  then.     Eventually,  Moore  executed  it. — M. 

t  The  "  great  lady  in  Florence,"  for  whose  private  reading  Byron's  Autobiography  was 
copied,  was  the  present  Countess  of  Westmoreland,  then  Lady  Burghersh.  Her  husband  had 
been  Envoy  Extraordinary  to  the  Court  of  Tuscany.  Of  the  copy  sent  to  her,  I  have  heard  that 
a  transcript  was  mad',  and  retained.  No  copy  was  sent  to  Galignani  by  Murray.  Lady  Blessing- 
ton  had  the  Autobiography  in  her  possession  for  weeks,  and  confessed  to  having  transcribed 
every  line  of  it.  Moore  remonstrated,  and  Lady  B.  committed  her  manuscript  to  the  flames  ; 
but  she  did  not  tell  him  that  her  sister,  Mrs.  Home  Purvis,  (now  Viscountess  Canterbury,)  had 
also  made  a  copy.  In  fact,  several  people  had  been  allowed  the  like  opportunity,  and  it  is 
hard  to  believe  that,  out  of  at  least  ten  or  twelve  persons,  only  three,  and  these  women,  had 
taken  the  trouble  of  transcribing.  From  the  quantity  of  "  copy"  which  I  have  seen,  (and 
others  were  more  in  the  way  of  falling  across  it  than  myself,)  I  surmise  that  at  least  half  a 
dozen  copies  were  made,  and  thsiijive  of  these  are  in  existence.  Some  particular  transac- 
tions—such  as  the  marriage  and  the  separation— were  copied  separately;  but  I  think  there 
cannot  be  less  than  five  full  copies  yet  to  be  found.— M, 


1824.]     •  btron's  "dictionary."  43T 

Odoherty.  Why,  he  takes  your  part  on  the  whole — he  puffs  your 
Queen's  Wake  and  Chaldee  most  stentoriously  ;  and  on  the  whole  does 
you  justice — you  are  in  the  Dictionary. 

Hogg.  The  Dictionary  ! — was  he  at  an  English  Dictionary  too  ?  Od, 
I  would  like  to  see  myself  quoted  in  the  English  Dictionary — a  bit  of 
Hogg  in  below  a  bit  of  bacon  may  be — it  would  look  very  well. 

Odoherty.  In  the  next  Dictionary  that  appears,  no  question,  you  will 
be  gratified  with  abundance  of  such  compliments — but  the  Dictionary 
of  Byron  is  quite  another  sort  of  thing.  One  volume  of  his  Memoirs, 
in  short,  consists  of  a  dictionary  of  all  his  friends  and  acquaintances, 
alphabetically  arranged,  with  proper  definitions  of  their  characters — 
criticisms  on  their  works  (when  they  had  any) — and  generally  a  few 
specimens  of  their  correspondence.  To  me  this  volume  seemed,  on  the 
whole,  the  most  amusing  of  the  three. 

Hogg.  I  dinna  doubt  it.  Oh,  the  ne'er-do-weels,  to  gang  awa  and 
burn  sic  a  book  as  this. 

Odoherty.  Pooh  !  I  tell  you  'tis  not  burnt* — you  will  see  it  in  the 
course  of  the  summer. 

Tickler.  After  all,  it  could  not  well  have  been  published  by  Murray. 
Galignani,  or  some  foreigner  or  other,  was  the  only  plan. 

Odoherty.  Why,  there  may  be  two  opinions  as  to  this.  It  was  at 
one  time  understood  that  Murray  was  to  have  employed  my  excellent 
friend  Tegg  to  bring  the  thing  forth — but  perhaps  Tom  would  have 
been  over  niee. 

Tickler.  0,  as  to  that,  you  know  Davison's  name  could  have  stood 
alone,  as  in  the  case  of  the  first  canto  of  the  Don. 

Odoherty.  Hang  it,  you  are  forgetting  that  infernal  narrow-minded 
old  quiz  of  a  Chancellor — his  abominable  punctilios  about  the  injunc- 
tioning  law,  you  know,  have  entirely  done  away  with  the  temptation  to 
publish  improper  books.  There  is  an  English  judge  and  cabinet-man 
for  you  !  Discountenancing  Don  Juan — strangling  Byron's  Memoirs, 
(so  far  as  the  English  MS.  was  in  question) — Fine  doings — fine  doings 
— we  shall  be  a  pretty  nation  soon,  I  calculate. 

Hogg  {sings)— 


My  blessings  on  your  auld  pow, 
John  Anderson,  my  joe,  John. 


And  yet,  I'm  doom'd  glad  that  the  lady  in  Florence  had  had  a  copy  of 
Byron's  MS.    I  have  a  gay  hantle  letters  o'  Byron's  in  my  ain  dask.    I 

*  Byron's  "  Dictionary"  was  not  among  the  manuscripts  burnt  at  the  instance  of  Lord 
Byron's  executors.  It  has  been  very  fully  described  to  me  as  written  on  long  foolscap, 
bound  together  or  stitched  with  narrow  pink  ribbon,  and  covered  with  stiff  whitey-brown 
paper.  What  Odoherty  calls  "  specimens  of  the  correspondence,"  were  actual  letters  from 
the  parties  treated  of  in  the  book,  wafered  upon  the  page  opposite  that  on  which  Byron  wrote. 
This  "  Dictionary,"  which  was  the  bulkiest  of  these  three  volumes  of  manuscript,  extended  to 
nearly  250  written  pages.— M. 


438  NOCTES   AMBROSIANiE.  •         [June, 

wonder  what  the  trade  would  give  a  body  for  a  small  volume  of  his 
epistolary  correspondence  wi'  his  friends  ? 

Odohertij.  Not  one  rap — his  letters  to  John  Murray  will  be  quite 
a  sufficient  dose  of  themselves, — but,  to  be  sure,  they  mayn't  be  printed 
just  immediately. 

Tickler.  Not  in  my  day,  I  calculate — you  young  dogs  may  expect 
to  outlive  both  me  and  John  Murray — you  will  see  the  whole  of  it,  En- 
sign— and  you,  Jonathan.  But  I,  long  ere  then,  shall  be  enjoying  the 
conversation  of  Byron  himself 

» 

Ev0a  ys  J^inixspicjv  avSpcav  SnjJ^offTt  noXiaTe, 
Jisoi  KUi  ve(pe\r}  KZicaXvu^voi,  aSe  ttot   avryg 
HeAtof  (patduiv  eKiSepKerat^  aKTiv£  eo-ctiv 
Ov{)'  h:TOT   av  ar£i')(^(n  -rrpog  ipavov  d^Epoevra 
Ou9'  hrav  dip  eiri  yo-'^c-i'  dt?  vpavoBcv  TrporpairriTai — 

Helas  !  helas !  cpso),  •zj^ots'oi,  w  ! !  och  !  och  ! 

Hogg.  Hech,  sirs !  what's  a'  this  rumbleterow  ? — what's  ailing  Mr. 
Tickler  ? 

Odoherty.  You  upon  pale  Cocytus'  shore  ! — you  old  piece  of  whip- 
cord! — I'll  back  you  to  ninety-five  as  readily  as  if  you  were  a  sinecurist. 
And  besides,  to  be  serious,  I  hope  you  don't  mean  to  keep  company 
with  people  down  yonder,  whom  you've  done  nothing  but  abuse  while 
szi\  X^ovj  ^spxwv. 

Tickler.  Come,  Odoherty — I  know  very  well  you  and  I  can  never 
agree  as  to  this.  But,  now  that  Lord  Byron  is  dead,  you  must  really 
stint  in  your  gab,  Morgan  Odoherty.  We  have  lost  a  great  man,  sir 
— a  truly  great  man — one  of  the  very  few  really  great  men  of  might 
that  our  age  has  witnessed. 

Odoherty.  Not  at  all,  my  dear  youth — by  no  manner  of  means. 
Byron  was  a  very  clever  man,  and  a  very  clever  poet ;  but,  as  to  his 
being  either  a  truly  great  man,  or  a  truly  great  poet,  I  must  altogether 
differ  from  you.  Why,  sir,  he  has  left  no  .truly  great  work  behind  him ; 
and  his  character  was  not  great. 

Tickler.  I  don't  admit  all  that.  But,  taking  the  first  thing  you  say 
to  be  so  for  a  moment,  what  is  the  great  work  we  have  of  Alcseus,  of 
Sappho — even  of  Pindar,  or  of  Sallust,  or  of  Petronius  ?  and  yet  these, 
I  take  it,  were  great  people,  and  are  so  even  in  your  estimation. 

Hogg.  I  never  heard  tell  of  one  of  them  afore  since  ever  I  was  born. 
Did  ye,  Jonathan  ? 

Mr.  Spiers.  O  fie,  Mr.  Hogg  ! — never  heard  of  Sallust  ? 

Odoherty.  Yes,  Tickler,  my  good  fellow,  but  you  are  not  stating 
your  case  fairly.  These  people  have  left  glorious  fragments — enough 
to  make  us  believe  what  other  great  people  say  of  the  works  that  have 
perished :  but,  misery  on  that  infernal  engine  the  press ! — -the  next 
worst  thing  after  gunpowder — Byron's  fragments  never  can  exist.  Spite 


1824,]  btkon's  rank.  439 

of  fate,  the  whole  mass  of  lumber  exists,  and  will  exist,  and  nobody,  in 
modern  times,  will  take  the  trouble  to  pick  out  the  few  fine  bits  Byron 
really  may  have  produced,  and  place  them  before  the  eyes  of  the 
world,  to  the  exclusion  of  his  portentous  balaam.  This  is  the  true 
devilry  of  your  modern  authorship. 

Tickler.  Has  Candide,  then,  no  separate  existence  of  its  own  ?  Does 
any  body,  when  they  read  that  glorious  thing,  or  the  Princess  of  Baby- 
lon, or  Zadig,  trouble  their  heads  with  thinking  of  the  existence  of 
(Edipe^  the  Universal  History,  and  all  the  rest  of  Voltaire's  humbug- 
ging Tragedies  and  Histories?  Not  at.  all,  my  hearty.  Or,  when 
people  read  Manon  Lescaut,  does  it  diminish  their  delight  that  the 
Abbe  wrote  and  published  fifty  volumes,  or  more,  of  had  novels,  which 
no  human  creature  above  the  calibre  of  a  Turnipologist  would  now 
endure  three  pages  of?  Or  do  I,  in  reading  Goldsmith's  Essays,  bother 
myself  with  his  History  of  Animals,  or  his  History  of  Rome  ?  Or  do 
any  of  us  enjoy  Tam  o'  Shanter  the  less,  because  Dr.  Currie's  edition 
contains  all  that  stuflT  of  Burns's  Epistles  to  Mrs.  Dunlop,  George 
Thomson,  &c.  ?  Or  who  the  devil  has  ever  even  heard  the  name  of 
the  five-hundredth  part  of  the  trashy  productions  which  flowed  from 
the  pens  of  Fielding  and  Smollett,  or  their  great  masters,  Le  Sage  and 
Cervantes  ?  The  critiques  of  the  Doctor,  the  plays  of  the  Justice,  the 
many  bitter  bad  plays  and  novels  of  the  Author  of  Don  Quixote,  and 
the  myriads  of  bad  plays  and  bad  books  of  all  kinds,  of  the  author  of 
the  Devil  on  Two  Sticks — these  matters  are  all  pretty  well  forgotten,  I 
suppose;  and  what  signifies  this  to  the  student  of  Sancho  Panza, 
Asmodeus,  Commodore  Trunnion,  or  Parson  Trulliber  ?  Come,  come 
— own  yourself  beat  now,  like  a  fair  man. 

Odoherty.  You  spout  nobly  when  your  breath  is  once  up ;  but, 
seriously,  then,  what  are  the  works  of  Byron  that  you  think  will  be 
remembered  in  honor  ?  and  what  is  the  sort  of  name  altogether  that 
you  think  he  will  bear, 

"  When  we're  all  cold  and  musty, 
A  hundred  years  hence  ?" 

Tickler.  I  think  Byron's  Childe  Harold,  Corsair,  Lara,  and  Don 
Juan  (in  part)  will  be  remembered  in  the  year  of  grace,  1924 ;  and  I 
think  the  name  of  Byron  will  then  be  ranked  as  the  third  name  of  one 
great  era  of  the  imaginative  literature  of  England ;  and  this  I  think  is 
no  trifle. 

Hogg.  After  Sir  Walter  and  me  ? 

Tickler.  No,  Hogg,  to  be  honest,  before  you,  my  dear  creature.  Yes, 
before  you.  Before  every  body  else  in  the  line,  my  dear  James,  except 
the  author  of  the  Bride  of  Lammermoor,  and  the  author  of  Ruth.*     I 

*  Scott  and  Wordstvorth. — M. 


44:0  NOCTES   AMBROSIAN^.  [June, 

name  tlie  two  best  and  most  pathetic  works  of  the  two  best,  and,  to 
my  feeling,  most  pathetic  writers  of  our  day — the  only  two — I  speak 
with  disparagement  to  no  one — that  have  opened  up  absolutely  new 
fields  of  their  own.  For,  after  all,  I  do  not  uphold  Byron  so  much  on 
the  score  of  original  invention,  as  on  that  of  original  energy. 
Hogg.  Original  energy  !  what  means  that,  being  interpreted  ? 
Tickler.  Why,  I  mean  to  say,  that  mere  energy  of  thought  and 
language  may  be  carried  so  far  as  to  make,  I  do  not  say  a  poet  of  the 
very  highest  class,  but  a  poet  of  a  very  high  one — and  I  say  that 
Byron's  energy  was  of  this  kind — and  I  say  that  his  place  is  imme- 
diately behind  the  all  but  Homeric  magician  of  the  North,  and  the  all 
but  Miltonic  prophet  of  the  Lakes.  There's  my  apophthegm — for  that, 
I  think,  Jemmy,  is  your  name  for  any  thing  you  don't  understand. 

Hogg.  Many  thousand  thanks  to  you,  Mr.  Timothy  Tickler,  of 
Southside. 

Odolierty.  The  fact  is  that  Byron  was  a  deuced  good  ratthng  fellow ; 
a  chap  that  could  do  most  things  he  had  seen  any  body  else  do  before 
him,  just  as  I  could  write  five  hundred  first-rate  songs,  a  la  Tom  Moore, 
or  a  la  James  Hogg,  if  I  had  a  mind.  The  far  greater  part  of  his  com- 
position was  decidedly  of  this  class — his  short  narrative  octosyllabic  was 
as  decidedly  a  copy  of  Walter  Scott,  as  that  of  the  Queen's  Wake. 
His  "  deep  feeling  of  nature" — ha  !  ha  !  ha ! — in  the  third  canto  of 
Harold,  and  other  subsequent  concerns,  was  the  result  of  his  having 
read  then — and  a  hint  that  he  had  not,  more  shame  to  him,  read 
before — the  poetry  of  that  old  Pan  of  the  woods,  W.  W.  His  Beppo 
was  the  visible  by-blow — a  vigorous  one,  I  admit — of  Whistlecraft — 
his  Manfred  was  a  copy  of  Goethe — and  his  Deformed  Transformed 
was  at  once  a  half-formed  and  a  deformed  transformation  of  the  Devil 
and  Doctor  Faustus,  of  the  same  unintelligible,  cloud-compelling,  old 
Meerschaumite.     Shall  I  go  on  ? 

Hogg.  'As  lang  as  you  like,  my  dear  fellow — but  you  wunna  make 
out  Wordsworth  to  have  written  Parisina  for  a'  that — no,  nor  Frere  to 
have  ever  had  one  canto  of  Don  Juan  in  his  breeks.  Pooh !  pooh ! 
Odoherty,  you  might  as  weel  tell  me  that  Shakspeare  was  the  copyist 
of  the  auld  idiots  that  wrote  the  original  Henry  Fifths,  King  Johns, 
and  so  forth.     Byron  was  the  great  man,  sir. 

Odoherty.  I'll  give  you  this  much — I  do  believe  he  might  have  been 
a  great  man,  if  he  had  cut  verse  fairly,  and  taken  to  prose.  My  humble 
opinion  is,  that  verse  will  not  thrive  again  in  our  tongue.  Our  tongue 
is,  after  all,  not  an  over-melodious  one.  I  doubt  if  even  Shakspeare 
would  not  have  done  well  to  cut  it — at  least,  it  always  appears  to  me, 
that  when  he  writes  what  the  critics  call  prose,  he  is  most  poetical 
What  say  you  to  Hamlet's  talk  with  Rosencrantz  and  Gildenstern  ? 
"  This  overhanging  vault,  look  ye,  fretted  with  golden  fires,"  &c.  &c. 
&c.     Is  not  that  poetry,  sir  ?     At  any  rate,  the  fact  is,  that  Byron 


1824.]  bteon's  prose.  441 

never  could  versify,  and  that  his  Memoirs  and  his  private  letters  arc 
the  only  things  of  his  that  I  have  ever  seen,  that  gave  me,  in  the  least 
degree,  the  notion  of  a  fine  creature  enjoying  the  full  and  unconstrained 
swing  of  his  faculties.  Hang  it !  if  you  had  ever  seen  that  attack  of 
his  on  Blackwood — or,  better  still,  that  attack  of  his  on  Jeffrey,  for 
puffing  Johnny  Keats — or,  best  of  all,  perhaps,  that  letter  on  Hob- 
house — or  that  glorious,  now  I  think  of  it,  that  inimitable  letter  to 
Tom  Moore,  giving  an  account  of  the  blow-up  with  Murray  about  the 
Don  Juan  concern — oh,  dear!  if  you  had  seen  these,  you  would 
never  have  thought  of  mentioning  any  rhymed  thing  of  Byron's — no, 
not  even  his  epigrams  on  Sam  Rogers,  which  are  well  worth  five  dozen 

of  Parisinas  and  Prisoners  of  Chillon,  and 

TicMer.  Stuff!  stuft'!  stuff! — But  I  take  it  you're  quizzing  within 
the  club — which  you  know  is  entirely  contra  bonos  mores.  Drop  this, 
Ensign. 

Odoherty.  I  am  dead  serious.  I  tell  you,  Byron's  prose  works, 
when  they  are  printed,  will  decidedly  fling  his  verse  into  total  oblivion. 
You,  sir,  that  have  merely  read  his  hide-bound,  dry,  barking,  absurd, 
ungrammatical  cantos  of  Don  Juan,  and  judge  from  them  of  Byron's 
powers  as  a  satirist,  are  in  the  most  pitiable  position  imaginable.  One 
thumping  paragraph  of  a  good  honest  thorough-going  letter  of  his  to 
Douglas  Kinnaird,  or  Murray  in  the  olden  time,  is  worth  five  ton  of 
that  material.  I  tell  you  once  again,  he  never  wrote  in  verse  with 
perfect  ease  and  effect — verse  never  was  his  natural  language,  as  it 
was  with  Horace  or  Boileau,  or  Pope  or  Spenser,  or  any  of  those  lads 
that  could  not  write  prose  at  all.  When  he  wrote  verses,  he  was 
always  translating — that  is  to  say,  beastifying — the  prose  that  already 
existed  in  his  pericranium.  There  was  nothing  of  that  rush  and  flow 
that  speaks  the  man  rhyming  in  spite  of  himself,  as  in  the  Battle  of 
Marmion,  or  Hamilton's  Bawn,  or  any  other  first-rate  poem.  No,  no 
— he  counted  his  feet,  depend  upon  it — and,  what  is  less  excusable,  he 
did  not  always  count  them  very  accurately.  Of  late,  by  Jupiter,  he 
produced  tooth-breakers  of  the  most  awful  virulence.  I  take  it  the 
Odontists  had  bribed  him. 

Tickler.  Why,  whom  do  you  call  a  good  versifier,  then  ? 

Odoherty.  We  have  not  many  of  them.  Frere  and  Coleridge  are, 
I  think,  the  most  perfect,  being  at  once  more  scientific  in  their  ideas 
of  the  matter  than  any  others  now  alive,  and  also  more  easy  and 
delightful  in  their  melody  which  they  themselves  produce.  We  have 
no  better  things  in  our  language,  looking  merely  to  versification,  than 
the  psychological  curiosity — 

"  A  damsel,  with  a  dulcimer, 
In  a  vision  once  I  saw, 
It  was  an  Abyssinian  maid, 
And  on  a  dulcimer  she  played, 
Singing  of  Mount  Abora,"  &c. 
19* 


4:42  NOCTES  AMBKOSIAN^.  [June, 

Or  Frere's  translation  of  tlie  Frogs,  printed  long  ago  in  Ebony.  Do 
you  remember  the  verses,  in  particular,  which  old  North  used  to  read, 
with  a  few  literal  alterations,  as  a  fine  cut  at  Joseph  Hume,  Peter 
Moore,  and  the  other  grand  leaders  of  the  Whig  party  now  ? 

"  Foreign  stamp  and  vulgar  mettle  raise  them  to  command  and  place, 
Brazen,  counterfeit  pretenders,  flunkies  of  a  flunky  race ; 
Whom  the  Whigs  of  former  ages  scarce  would  have  allowed  to  stand, 
At  the  sacrifice  of  oiitcasts,  as  the  scape-goats  of  their  band." 

BjTon  seldom  or  never  made  verses  equal,  merely  qua  verses,  to  the 
like  of  these.  When  he  did,  it  was  by  a  strict  imitation  of  something 
his  ear  had  caught  in  the  versijEication  of  some  preceding  poet.  As 
for  the  Spenserian,  you  well  know  that  whenever  his  sweep  of  stanza 
did  not  vividly  recall  Thomson  or  old  Edmund  himself,  the  stanza 
was  execrably  hard,  husky,  and  unswallowable. 
Tickler  {solemnly). 

"Tambourgi,  tambourgi,  thy  larum  afar 
Gives  hope  to  the  valiant,  and  promise  of  war !" 

Odoherty.  Come,  come,  Timotheus,  don't  throw  your  chair  back  in 
that  abominable  Yankee-doodle  fashion.  Stick  to  the  argument,  sir — 
don't  lounge  and  spout. 

Tickler. 

"  It  is  the  hour  when  from  the  boughs 
The  nightingale's  high  note  is  heard ; 
It  is  the  hour  when  lover's  vows 
Seem  sweet  in  every  whispered  word ; — 
And  gentle  winds  and  waters  near 
Make  music  to  the  lonely  ear; — 
Each  flower  the  dews  have  lightly  wet, 
And  in  the  sky  the  stars  are  met ; 
And  on  the  waves  a  deeper  blue. 
And  on  the  leaf  a  browner  hue. 
And  in  the  heavens  that  clear  obscure, 
So  softly  dark  and  darkly  pure. 
Which  follows  the  decline  of  day, 
As  twilight  melts  beneath  the  moon,  away." 

Hogg.  Ay,  ay,  man,  these  are  verses.  (Aside  to  Spiers.)  Do  you 
think  they're  as  good  as  Kilmeny  ? 

Tickler.  Listen  to  me  one  moment  more,  Odoherty.  The  fact,  sir, 
stands  simply  thus : — It  is  obvious  to  any  one  who  is  capable  of  cast- 
ing a  comprehensive  eye  over  things,  that  there  are  three  different 
great  veins  of  thought  and  sentiment  prevalent  in  this  age  of  the 
world ;  and  I  hold  it  to  be  equally  clear,  that  England  has  furnished 
at  least  one  great  poetical  expositor  and  interpreter  for  each  of  the 
three.  This,  sir,  is  the  Age  of  Revolution.  It  is  an  age  in  which 
earth  rocks  to  and  fro  upon  its  foundations — in  which  recourse  is  had 


1824.]  BYKON,    SCOTT,    AND   WOEDSWOETH.  44:b 

to  the  elements  of  all  things — in  which  thrones,  and  dominations,  and 
principles,  and  powers,  and  opinions,  and  creeds,  are  all  alike  subjected 
to  the  sifting  of  the  winds  of  Intellect,  and  the  tossing  and  lashing  of 
the  waves  of  Passion.  Now,  there  are  three  ways  in  which  the  mind 
of  poetic  power  may  look  at  all  this — there  are  three  parts  among 
which  it  may  choose.  First,  there  is  the  spirit  of  scorn  of  that  which 
is  old — of  universal  distrust  and  derision,  mingled  up  with  a  certain 
phrenzy  of  indignation  and  innovating  fury — here  is  Byron.  Then 
there  is  the  high  heroic  spirit  of  veneration  for  that  which  has  been — 
that  still  deeper,  that  infinitely  more  philosophical  distrust,  which  has 
for  its  object  this  very  rage  and  storm  of  coxcombical  innovation  which 
I  have  been  describing.  This  is  Scott — the  noble  bard  of  the  noble — 
the  prop  of  the  venerable  towers  and  temples,  beneath  which  our 
fathers  worshipped  and  did  homage  in  the  days  of  a  higher,  a  purer,  a 
more  chivalric  race.     This  is  the  voice  that  cries — In  defence  !-^ — 

'Faster  come,  faster  come, 

Faster  and  faster, — 
Page,  vassal,  squire,  and  groom, 

Tenant  and  master : 
Come  as  the  winds  come, 

When  forests  are  rending; 
Come  as  the  waves  come, 

When  navies  are  stranding !" 

And  there  is  yet  a  third  spirit — the  spirit  of  lonely,  meditative,  high- 
souled,  and  yet  calm-souled  men — of  him  who  takes  no  part  in  sound- 
ing or  obeying  the  v/ar-pipe  of  either  array — the  far-off,  philosophic 
contemplator,  who,  turning  from  the  turmoil,  out  of  which  he  sees  no 
escape,  and  penetrated  with  a  profound  loathing  of  all  this  mighty 
clamor,  about  things,  at  the  best,  but  fleeting  and  terrestrial,  plunges,  as 
it  were,  into  the  quiet,  serene  ocean-depths  of  solitary  wisdom,  there  to 
forget  the  waves  that  boil  upon  the  surface — there  to  brood  over  the 
images  of  eternal  and  undisturbed  truth  and  beauty.  This  is  Words- 
worth ;  hear  how  he  describes  a  poet's  tomb — 

"  A  convent — even  a  hermit's  cell — 
Would  break  the  silence  of  this  dell. 
It  is  not  quiet — is  not  ease. 
But  something  deeper  far  than  these. 
The  separation  that  is  here 
Is  of  the  grave^and  of  austere 
And  happy  feelings  of  the  dead: 
And  therefore  was  it  rightly  said, 
That  Ossian,  last  of  all  his  race. 
Lies  buried  in  this  lonely  place." 

Hogg.  Hech  me  ! — I'll  be  buried  beside  Yarrow  mysel ! 

Odoherty.  And  dug  up,  no  doubt,  quite  fresh  and  lovely,  like  this 


444  NOCTES   AMBROSIAN^.  [June, 

new  hero  of  yours,  one  liiindred  summers  hence.  I  hope  you  will  take 
care  to  be  buried  in  the  top  boots,  by  the  by — they  will  gratify  the 
speculators  of  the  year  two  thousand  and  two. 

Tickler.  So  Byron  is,  after  all,  to  be  buried  in  Greece — quite  right.* 
His  suspiration  was  originally  from  thence — his  muse  always  spread  a 
broader  pinion  whenever  she  hovered  over  the  blue  JEgean.  Proudl}-" 
let  him  lie  on  Sunium  !  loftily  let  his  spirit  gaze  at  midnight  npon  the 
rocks  of  Salamis  ! 

Odoherty.  So  be  it.  But  I  have  still  one  word  to  say  to  you  nncnt 
his  lordship  of  Byron.  Byron  was  by  no  means,  Mr.  Timothy,  the 
Jacobin  Bard  that  you  seem  to  hold  him.  I'll  be  shot  if  he  ever  pen- 
ned one  stanza  without  feeling  the  coronet. — Ay,  ay,  sir,  he  was  indeed 
"  Byron  my  Baron,"  and  that  to  the  backbone. 

Tichler.  You  are  quite  right,  Odoherty,  and  I  would  have  said  the 
same  thing  if  Hogg  had  not  interrupted  me.  The  fact  is,  that  Byron 
took  the  walk  I  mentioned,  but  he  did  not  take  it  in  that  singleness  of 
heart  and  soul  with  which  the  two  other  gentlemen  took  to  theirs. 
No,  sir,  he  was  too  good  by  nature  for  what  he  wished  to  be — he  could 
not  drain  the  blood  of  the  cavaliers  out  of  his  veins — he  could  not 
cover  the  coronet  all  over  with  the  red  nightcap — he  could  not  forget 
that  he  was  born  a  lord,  a  gentleman,  an  English  gentleman,  and  an 
English  lord; — and  hence  the  contradictoriness  which  has  done  so 
much  to  weaken  the  effect  of  his  strains — hence  that  self-reproaching 
melancholy  which  was  eternally  crossing  and  unnerving  him — hence 
the  impossibility  of  his  hearing,  without  a  quivering  pulse,  ay,  even 
after  all  his  thundering  trumpets  about  Washington,  America,  repub- 
lics, and  fiddle-de-dees,  the  least  echo  of  what  he  in  his  very  last  poem 
so  sweetly  alludes  to — 

"  The  home 

Heart  ballads  of  green  Erin  or  gray  Highlands, 

That  bi'ing  Lochaber  back  to  eyes  that  roam 
O'er  far  Atlantic  continents  or  islands — 

The  calentures  of  music  that  o'ercome 
All  mountaineers  with  dreams  that  they  are  nigh  lands 

No  more  to  be  beheld  but  in  such  visions." 

Hence  the  dark  heaving  of  soul  with  which  he  must  have  written 
in  his  Italian  villezgiatura,  that  description  of  his  own  lost,  forfeited, 
ancestral  seat.     I  can  repeat  the  glorious  verses. 

"  It  stood  embosom'd  in  a  happy  valley, 

Crown'd  by  high  woodlands,  where  the  Druid  oak 

*  It  wa»  originally  intended  that  Byron's  heart,  at  least,  should  be  retained  in  that  Greece 
which  he  had  loved  so  well,  which  obtained  his  early  sympathy,  aud  received  his  latest  breath. 
This  was  not  fulfilled.  All  that  was  mortal  of  him  rests  in  the  humble  church  of  Hucknall,  not 
far  from  that  Newstead  Abbey  which  he  so  exquisitely  described. — M. 


1824.]  ITEWSTEAD   ABBEY.  445 

Stood  like  Caractacus  in  act  to  rally 

His  host,  with  broad  arms,  'gainst  the  thunder-stroke ;    ' 
And  from  beneath  his  boughs  were  seen  to  sally 

The  dappled  foresters — as  day  awoke, 
The  branching  stag  swept  down  with  all  his  herd, 
To  quaff  a  brook  which  mui^mur'd  like  a  bird. 

"  Before  the  mansion  lay  a  lucid  lake, 

Broad  as  transparent,  deep,  and  freshly  fed 
By  a  river,  which  its  soften'd  way  did  take 

In  currents  through  the  calmer  water  spread 
Around :  the  wild  fowl  nestled  in  the  brake 

And  sedges,  brooding  in  their  liquid  bed ; 
The  woods  sloped  downwards  to  its  brink,  and  stood 
With  their  green  faces  fix'd  upon  the  flood. 

"  Its  outlet  dash'd  into  a  deep  cascade, 

Sparkling  with  foam,  until,  again  subsiding, 
Its  shriller  echoes — like  an  infant  made 

Quiet — sank  into  softer  ripples,  gliding 
Into  a  rivulet ;  and  thus  allay'd. 

Pursued  its  course,  now  gleaming,  and  now  hiding 
Its  windings  through  the  woods;  now  clear,  now  blue, 
According  as  the.  skies  their  shadows  threw. 

"  A  glorious  remnant  of  the  Gothic  pile 

(While  yet  the  church  was  Rome's)  stood  half  apart 

In  a  grand  arch,  which  once  screened  many  an  aisle. 
These  last  had  disappear' d — a  loss  to  art : 

The  first  yet  frown'd  superbly  o'er  the  soil, 
And  kindled  feelings  in  the  roughest  heart. 

Which  mourn'd  the  power  of  time's  or  tempest's  march. 

In  gazing  on  that  venerable  arch. 

**  Within  a  niche,  nigh  to  its  pinnacle. 

Twelve  saints  had  once  stood  sanctified  in  stone ; 

But  these  had  fallen,  not  when  the  friars  fell, 

But  in  the  war  which  struck  Charles  from  his  throne, 

When  each  house  was  a  fortalice— as  tell 
The  annals  of  full  many  a  line  undone. 

The  gallant  cavaliers,  who  fought  in  vain 

For  those  who  knew  not  to  resign  or  reign. 

**  But  in  a  higher  niche,  alone,  but  crown'd, 

The  Virgin  Mother  of  the  God-born  child, 
With  her  Son  in  her  blessed  arms,  look'd  round, 

Spared  by  some  chance  when  all  beside  was  spoil'd ; 
She  made  the  earth  below  seem  holy  ground. 

This  may  be  superstition,  weak  or  wild. 
But  even  the  faintest  relics  of  a  shrine 
Of  any  worship,  wake  some  thoughts  divine. 

"  A  mighty  window,  hollow  in  the  centre. 
Shorn  of  its  glass  of  thousand  colorings, 


446  N0CTP:S   AMBROSTAlf.E.  [June, 

Through  which  the  deepen'd  glories  once  could  enter, 
Streaming  from  off  the  sun  like  seraph's  wings, 

Now  yawns  all  desolate:  now  loud,  now  fainter, 
The  gale  sweeps  through  its  fretwork,  and  oft  sings 

The  owl  his  anthem,  where  the  silenced  quire 

Lie  with  their  hallelujahs  quench'd  like  fire. 

"  But  in  the  noontide  of  the  moon,  and  when 

The  wind  is  winged  from  one  point  of  heaven, 

There  moans  a  strange  unearthly  sound,  which  then 
Is  musical — a  dying  accent  driven 

Through  the  huge  arch,  which  soars  and  sinks  again. 
Some  deem  it  but  the  distant  echo  given 

Back  to  the  night  wind  by  the  waterfall, 

And  harmonized  by  the  old  choral  wall. 

"  Others,  that  some  original  shape,  or  form 

Shaped  by  decay  perchance,  hath  given  the  power 

(Though  less  than  that  of  Memnon's  statue,  warm 
In  Egypt's  rays,  to  harp  at  a  fix'd  hour) 

To  this  gray  ruin  with  a  voice  to  charm. 
Sad,  but  serene,  it  sweeps  o'er  tree  or  tower : 

The  cause  I  know  not,  nor  can  solve ;  but  such 

The  fact : — I've  heard  it, — once  perhaps  too  much. 

"  Amidst  the  court  a  Gothic  fountain  play'd, 

Symmetrical,  but  deck'd  with  carvings  quaint — 

Strange  faces,  like  to  men  in  masquerade, 
And  here  perhaps  a  monster,  there  a  saint : 

The  spring  gush'd  through  grim  mouths,  of  granite  made, 
And  sparkled  into  basins,  where  it  spent 

Its  little  torrent  in  a  thousand  bubbles, 

Like  man's  vain  glory,  and  his  vainer  troubles." 

Hogg.  It  is  there — it  is  nowhere  but  there,  that  Byron's  ghost  will 
linger.  Ye  may  speak  about  Greece,  and  Rome,  and  America ;  but 
his  heart  was,  after  all,  among  the  auld  mouldering  > arches  and  oaks 
of  his  forefathers.  I  would  not,  for  something,  stand  ae  hour  of  black 
night  below  the  shadow  of  that  awful  auld  Abbey.  Ghosts  indeed  ! 
I  could  face  the  spectres'  of  auld  priests  and  monks  enow,  I  daursay — 
but  od,  man,  what  a  ghost  of  ghosts  will  Byron's  be  ! 

Tickler.  Well  said,  James  Hogg  !     Go  on. 

Hogg  {liming  drunk  off  a  tumbler).  I  canna  express  what  my  feel- 
ings are  as  to  some  things — but  I  have  them,  for  a'  that.  I  ken  nae- 
thing  about  your  grand  divisions  and  subdivisions,  about  old  things  and 
new  things,  and  contemplative  spirits  and  revolutionary  spirits,  and 
what  not — but  this  I  ken,  sirs,  that  I  canna  bide  to  think  that  Byron's 
dead.  There's  a  wonderful  mind  swallowed  up  somewhere.  Gone  ! 
and  gone  so  young  ! — and  may  be  on  the  threshold  of  his  truest  glory, 
baith  as  a  man  and  as  a  poet.  It  makes  me  wae,  wae,  to  think  o't. 
Ye'll  laugh  at  me,  Captain  Odoherty ;  but  it's  as  ti'ue  as  I'm  telling  ye, 


1824.] 


BTKON. 


447 


I  shall  never  see  a  grand  blue  sky  fu'  of  stars,  nor  look  out  upon  the 
Forest,  when  all  the  winds  of  winter  are  howling  over  the  wilderness 
of  dry  crashing  branches,  nor  stand  beside  the  sea  to  hear  the  waves 
roaring  upon  the  rocks,  without  thinking  that  the  spirit  of  Byron  is 
near  me.  In  the  hour  of  awe — in  the  hour  of  gloom— in  the  hour  of 
sorrow,  and  in  the  hour  of  death,  I  shall  remember  Byron  ! 

Tickler.  Euge  !  Let  no  more  evil  be  said  of  him.  Ma  rs?  sv  Ma^a- 
^wvj  <ropojxa;)(^sucravra^ — Peace  be  to  the  illustrious  dead  ! 

Odoherty.  By  all  means,  gentlemen — by  all  manner  of  means. 
Here,  then,  fill  your  glasses  to  the  brim — and  rise  up — To  the  Memory 
of  Byron  ! 

Omnes  (rising).  The  Memory  of  Byron  ! 

Odoherty  {sings) 


Air — The  Last  Rose  of  Summer.^ 


1. 


Lament  for  Lord  Byron, 

In  full  flow  of  grief, 
As  a  sept  of  Milesians 

Would  mourn  o'er  their  chief! 
With  the  loud  voice  of  weeping, 

With  sorrow's  deep  tone, 
We  shall  keen  o'er  our  poet, 

"All  faded  and  gone." 

2. 

Though  far  in  Missolunghi 

His  body  is  laid  ; 
Though  the  hands  of  the  stranger 

His  lone  grave  have  made; 
Though  no  foot  from  Old  England 

Its  surface  will  tread, 
Nor  the  sun  of  Old  England 

Shine  over  its  head  : 


Yet,  bard  of  the  Corsair, 

High-spirited  Childe ; 
Thou  who  sang'st  of  Lord  Manfred 

The  destiny  wild! 
Thou  star,  whose  bright  radiance 

Illumined  our  verse. 
Our  souls  cross  the  blue  seas. 

To  mourn  o'er  thy  hearse. 


Thy  faults  and  thy  follies. 
Whatever  they  were. 

Be  their  memory  dispersed 
As  the  winds  of  the  ah ; 


Wo  reproaches  from  me 

On  thy  course  shall  be  thrown, — 
Let  the  man  who  is  sinless 

Uj)lift  the  first  stone. 


In  thy  vigor  of  manhood 

Small  praise  from  my  tongue 
Had  thy  fame  or  thy  talents, 

Or  merriment  wrung ; 
For  that  chui'ch,  and  that  state,  and 

That  monarch  I  loved. 
Which  too  oft  thy  hot  censure 

Or  rash  laughter  moved. 

6. 
But  I  hoped  in  my  bosom 

That  moment  would  come. 
When  thy  feelings  would  wander 

Again  to  their  home. 
For  that  soul,  0  lost  Byron ! 

In  brillianter  hours, 
Must  have  turn'd  to  its  country — 

Must  still  have  been  ours. 


Wow  slumber,  bright  spirit! 

Thy  body,  in  peace, 
Sleeps  with  heroes  and  sages, 

And  poets  of  G-reece ; 
While  thy  soul  in  the  tongue  of 

Even  greater  than  they. 
Is  embalm'd  till  the  mountains 

And  seas  pass  away. 


*  Written  by  Maginn — as  was  the  whole  of  this  "  Noctes."— M. 


448 


NOCTES  AMBROSIAN^.  [June, 


Tickler,  Very  well,  indeed,  Odoherty ;  I  am  glad  to  see  that  you 
really  have  some  feeling  about  you  still.  Oh  yes,  man,  that  is  what 
every  body  must  feel. 

Odoherty.  Feel  what? — why,  what  a  proper  old  humbug  you  are, 
after  all !     (Sinffs.) 


Oh !  when  I  am  departed  and  passed  away, 
Let's  have  no  lamentations  or  sounds  of  dismay — 
Meet  together,  kind  lads,  o'er  a  three-gallon  bowl. 
And  so  toast  the  repose  of  Odoherty's  soul, 

Down,  derry  down. 

2. 

If  my  darling  girl  pass,  gently  bid  her  come  in, 

To  join  the  libation  she'll  think  it  no  sin ; 

Though  she  choose  a  new  sweetheart,  and  doff  the  black  gown, 

She'll  remember  me  kindly  when  down — down — down — 

Down,  derry  down. 

Were  you  deep  in  for  it  about  the  battle.  Tickler?  I  won  five 
ponies  on  Spring — that  was  all  I  Had  done. 

Tickler.  I  have  cut  the  pugilistic  mania  ever  since  the  Thurtell  busi- 
ness— it  quite  disgusted  me  with  the  ring. 

Odoherty.  Pooh !  stuff  of  stuffs ; — you're  getting  crazy,  I  believe. 
I  suppose  you  shut  Redgauntlet,  whenever  you  came  to  that  capital 
murder  of  Nanty  Ewart  and  Master  Nixon — the  best  thing  in  the 
book,  in  my  humble  opinion. 

Hogg.  An  awfu'  gruesome  business,  in  truth.  Weel,  I  think  it's  a 
very  gude  book,  now,  Redgauntlet.  I  consider  it  a  very  decent  novel. 
I  read  him  through  without  stopping ;  and  it  was  after  supper,  too, 
ere  I  got  hand  o'  the  chiel. 

Tickler.  Why,  that's  not  the  worst  way  of  judging  of  such  aflfairs, 
James.  My  case  was  pretty  much  the  same.  'Tis  a  very  excellent 
book,  a  spirit-stirring  one,  and  a  spirit-sustaining  one.     It  never  flags. 

Odoherty.  I  wish  to  God  it  had  been  written  on  in  one  even  strain, 
no  matter  whether  in  the  first  or  in  the  third  person ;  but  I  hate  all 
that  botheration  of  Mr.  Latimer's  narrative,  Mr.  Fairford's  narrative, 
and  the  Author  of  Waverley's  narrative.  Indeed  it  is  obvious  he  had 
got  sick  of  that  stuff  himself  ere  he  reached  the  belly  of  the  second 
volume,  and  had  the  sheets  not  gone  to  press,  no  doubt  he  would 
have  altered  it. 

Hogg.  I  really  never  noticed  that  there  was  ony  thing  out  of  the 
ordinary  in  this  particular.  I  read  it  clean  on,  till  I  got  baith  sair  een 
and  sair  heart. 

Tickler.  Yes,  yes — these  are  mere  trifles.  Give  me  such  a  stream 
of  narrative,  and  give  me  one  such  glorious  fellow  as  Auld  Willie,  and 


1824.]  KEDGAUNTLETT.  449 

I  am  pretty  well  off,  I  calculate.  What  a  most  terrific  piece  of  dia- 
blerie that  is,  the  story  of  the  old  Baron  and  his  Baboon.  By  Jupiter, 
they  may  talk  of  their  Sintrams  and  their  Devil's  Elixirs  as  long  as 
they  please.  That's  the  best  ghost  story  ever  I  read.  I  speak  for  my- 
self— and  how  gloriously  the  Fiddler  tells  it,  which,  by  the  way,  is,  all 
things  considered,  not  the  smallest  part  of  the  feat.  To  make  a  cat- 
witted,  old,  blind  creature  like  that  tell  such  a  tale,  without  for  a 
moment  using  an  expression  out  of  his  own  character,  and  yet  tell  it 
with  such  portentous  thrilling  energy,  and  even  subhmity  of  effect — 
this,  sirs,  is  the  perfection,  not  of  genius  merely,  but  of  taste  and  con- 
summate art. 

Odoherty.  Nanty  Ewart  for  my  money  !  Why,  Byron  might  have 
written  for  fifty  years  without  digging  the  fiftieth .  part  so  deep  into 
the  human  heart — ay,  even  the  blackguard  human  heart  he  is  so  fond 
of.  The  attempt  to  laugh- — and  the  stammered  '■'•Poor  Jess  /" — and 
then  that  fearful  sarcasm,  "  he  is  killing  me — and  I  am  only  sorry  he 
is  so  long  about  it."  These,  sir,  are  the  undying  qu'il  mouruts  that 
will  keep  this  lad  afloat,  although  he  should  write  books  enough  to 
fill  the  James  Watt  steamboat. 

Hogg.  I  kent  Peter  Peebles  brawlies — I've  seen  the  doited  body 
gaun  gaping  about  the  Parliament-House  five  hundred  times — I  forget 
his  real  name  though.  Peter's  really  a  weel-drawn  character — he's  a 
very  natural  delineation,  to  my  fancy. 

Tickler.  Natural  delineation !  Well-drawn  character,  indeed  ! — 
Come,  come,  Jamie,  he's  a  prince,  a  king,  an  emperor  of  characters. 
Give  us  one  such  a  character,  sir,  and  we  will  hoist  you  up  till  old  Stod- 
hard's  ridiculous  caricature  be  realized,  and  the  top-boots  of  the  Ettrick 
Shepherd  are  seen  plaited  in  the  most  intimate  and  endearing  famil- 
arity  with  the  point-hose  of  Will  Shakspeare.  He's  quite  as  good, 
sir,  as  any  Malvolio,  or  Slender,  that  was  ever  painted  by  the  hand  of 
man.     I  build,  in  the  true  Catholic  phrase,  super  hunc  Petram. 

Odoherty.  Nothing  is  so  disgusting  to  me  as  the  chat  of  these  cock- 
neyfied'  critics  about  those  books.  Prating,  prating  about  fallings  off, 
want  of  respect  for  the  public,  absurd  haste,  repetitions  of  Meg  Mer- 
rilies,  &c.  &c.  &c. — I  trouble  them  to  show  me  the  man  that  can  give 
us  a  Meg  Dods,  or  a  Clara  Mowbray,  or  one  of  these  characters  we 
have  just  been  discussing.  Till  then,  I  spurn  their  Balaam  with  my 
heels.  The  only  person  I  really  was  sorry  to  see  joining  in  the  beastly 
stuff  was  Tom  Campbell — but  to  be  sure,  his  dotage  is  sufiiciently 
evident  from  many  things  besides  that. 

Tickler.  Ay,  ay,  poor  Ritter  Bann  !*  He  has  gone  down  hill  with  a 
vengeance,  to  be  sure. 

Odoherty.  Spurn  we  with  our  heels  the  Balaam  and  the  Balaam- 

♦  A  very  inferior  ballad,  by  Campbell,  so  named. — M. 


450  NOCTES   AMBEOSLOrJE.  [June, 

ites ! — Xortli,  I  suppose,  will  be  sqiiabashing  them  in  the  shape  of  a 
Review  of  Redgauntlet. 

Tickler.  ]S[ot  he,  i'  faith.  He  was  in  a  deuced  rage  with  Ebony,  for 
wanting-  him  to  have  a  review  of  it.  He  said  he  supposed  the  next 
thing  would  be  to  review.  Homer's  Iliad,  and  the  Psalms  of  David. 
And  after  all,  Kit  is  so  far  right — every  body  has  read  a  book  of  that 
sort  as  soon  as  yourself,  and  there  being  nothing  new  in  the  hind  of 
talent  it  displays,  most  people  are  just  as  able  as  any  of  us  to  make  a 
decent  judgment.  When  another  Ivanhoe,  or  any  thing  ranking  as 
the  commencement  of  another  flight  altogether,  makes  its  appearance, 
then,  no  doubt,  the  old  lad  will  touch  the  trumpet  again — not,  I  think, 
till  then. 

Odoherty.  He  is  getting  crustier  and  crustier  every  day.  One  can 
scarcely  get  him  to  put  in  the  least  puff  now,  merely  to  oblige  a  friend. 
Ebony  does  not  like  to  speak  to  him  on  the  subject,  particularly  when 
his  gout  is  flying  about  in  this  horrid  way  ;  but  entre  7ious,  he  is  by  no 
means  satisfied  with  old  Christopher.  He  seldom  or  never  mentions 
any  of  Blackwood's  books,  which  to  me,  I  must  own,  seems  deuced  un- 
fair. But  he's  so  capricious,  the  old  cock.  There  is  Gilbert  Earle, 
now,  a  really  clever  thing  too — but  that  ought  to  have  been  nothing, 
either  here  or  there,  when  I  asked  him  so  small  a  favor, — I  sent  him 
one  of  the  handiest  little  articles  on  Master  Gilbert  you  ever  saw,  and, 
by  Jupiter,  back  it  came  by  return  of  the  caddie,  with  just  this 
scrawled  on  the  top  in  red  ink,  or  beet-root  sauce,  I  rather  think : 
"  Out  upon  novels  !" — these  were  the  words  of  the  curmudgeon. 

Hogg.  Out  upon  novels !  keep  us  a' ! 

Tickler.  Gad !  I  almost  sympathize  with  Christopherus — there  pos- 
itively is  too  great  a  crop — but  sans  'phrase^  now,  what  sort  of  a  con- 
cern is  this  same  Gilbert  Earle  ? 

Odoherty.  Why,  it  is  a  work  of  real  talent — I  assure  you — 'pon 
honor  it  is — a  very  clever  work  indeed — and  besides,  it  is  published  by 
Knight,  a  lad  for  whom  I  have  a  particular  regard.  'Tis  a  most  mel- 
ancholy tale — both  the  subject  and  the  style  are  after  Adam  Blair,  but 
that  does  not  prevent  the  author's  exhibiting  great  and  original  talent 
in  many  of  the  descriptions.  By  the  by,  he  would  suit  you  exactly 
in  one  thing,  Hogg.  Such  a  hand  for  describing  a  pretty  woman,  has 
not  often  fallen  in  your  way,  I  calculate.  Upon  my  soul,  I'm  not  veiy 
inflammable,  you  know,  and  yet  some  of  his  pieces  of  this  kind  almost 
took  away  my  breath.  But  read  the  book,  lads,  for  yourselves — ask 
for  "  Some  Account  of  the  late  Gilbert  Earle,  Esq.,"  written  by  himself, 
and  published  by  Mr.  Knight.  You  will  find  the  author  to  be  one  of 
these  true  fellows  who  blend  true  pathos  with  true  luxury.  Some  of 
his  bits,  by  the  by,  may  have  caught  your  eye  already,  for  he  published 
one  or  two  specimens  of  the  aftair  in  the  Album. 

Tickler.  A  clever  and  gentlemanhke  periodical,  which  I  am  truly 


1801.1  JEFFREY   AND    SOUTHET.  451 

sorry  to  find  stopped — at  least  I  suppose  it  is  so,  for  I  have  not  lately 
heard  the  name.  There  were  some  capital  contributors  to  that  con 
cern. 

Odoherty.  I  believe  JS'orth  has  now  enlisted  some  of  the  best  of 
them ;  but  not  the  author  of  the  said  Gilbert  Earle,^  he  being  a  Whig. 
He  is  a  devilish  nice  lad,  however,  for  all  that. 

Tickler.  I  perceive,  Odoherty,  that  you  have  no  notion  of  impartial 
criticism.  You  always  sit  down  with  a  fixed  resolution  to  abuse  a 
fellow  up  hill  and  down  dale,  or  else  to  laud  him  to  the  Empyrean. 
I  suspect  you  are  capricious  as  to  these  matters. 

Odoherty.  JSTot  at  all.  I  always  abuse  my  enemies,  and  puff  my 
friends.  So  do  all  the  rest  of  the  lads  "  of  the  we,"  if  they  had  the 
candor  to  confess  things — but  that  they  have  not,  wherefore  let  per- 
dition be  their  portion.  I,  for  my  part,  have  no  hesitation  in  avowing 
that  I  consider  Burns's  best,  truest,  and  most  touching  line  to  be, 

"  They  had  been  fu'  for  weeks  together. " 

How  could  one  hesitate  about  puffing  him  whose  cigar-case  has  never 
been  closed  upon  his  fingers  ?  Do  you  know  why  Jeff'rey  has  been  so 
severe  of  late  upon  Doctor  Southey  ? 

Tickler.  Impertinence,  that's  all — though  I  admit  there  is  a  pretty 
considerable  d — d  deal  of  humbug  about  him  {ut  Yankice  loquar). 

Odoherty.  The  reason  of  Jeff*rey's  spleen  is  obvious..  The  laureate 
invited  him  to  tea  !■ — invite  a  literary  character  of  rank  to  a  dish  of 
catlap,  and  a  thin,  scraggy,  dry,  hutter-hrodt,  as  the  Germans  call  it  in 
their  superb  and  now  popularish  dialect.  Why,  there's  no  saying  what 
might  have  happened,  had  he  set  down  the  little  man  to  a  plate  of  hot 
kipper,  or  some  nice  fried  trouts,  and  then  a  bowl  of  cold  punch,  or  a 
bottle  of  sauterne  or  markebrunner.  That  is  the  way  to  treat  an 
editor  of  that  magnitude,  when  he  calls  on  you  in  your  country  house 
in  the  evening  of  a  fine  summer's  day — more  particularly  when,  as  I 
believe  Jeff"rey's  case  really  was,  the  said  editor  has  dined  at  an  earlier 
hour  than  he  is  accustomed  to,  and  when,  as  I  also  understood  to  have 
been  the  fact  on  this  occasion,  the  lad  is  evidently  quite  sober.  In 
such  circumstances  the  notion  of  the  tea  was  a  real  Mtise.  Southey 
was  always  a  spoon ;  but  I  wonder  Coleridge  could  sit  by  without  re- 
collecting what  sort  of  an  appearance  it  would  have,  and  tipping  Betty 
a  hint  to  bring  in  the  broth. 

Hogg.  The  broth  !     Het  kail  to  the  four-hours.  Captain  ? 

Odoherty.  Was  hroth  the  word  I  used  ?  I  have  been  in  Glasgow 
lately,  you  know.  '  It  has  the  same  meaning  there  with  punch — cold 
lime  and  rum  punch,  I  mean — the  best  liquefier,  perhaps,  that  has  yet 

*  Barry  St.  Leger,  an  Irishman,  was  author  of  "  Gilbert  Earle,"  and  of  "  Selections  from 
Mr.  Blount's  MSS."— M. 


452  NOCTES   AMBROSIAN^.  [June, 

been  invented  for  this  season  of  the  year.  I  prefer  it,  I  confess,  both  to 
Sangaree  and  Brandy  Panny.     These  are  morning  tipples  decidedly. 

Tickler.  Come,  you're  getting  into  your  Maxim  vein,  I  think.  You 
are  becoming  a  perfect  Solomon  of  Soakers,  Ensign.  You  should  have 
called  it  the  Code  Odoherty,  sir,  and  produced  it  at  once  in  a  handy, 
little,  juridical -looking,  punchy  double  duodecimo.  The  work  would 
be  much  referred  to. 

Odoherty.  I  am  great  in  my  legislatorial  capacity,  I  admit.  No- 
thing equal  to  me  in  my  own  department.  As  Byron  has  expressed 
it,  I  am  at  present 

The  Grand  Napoleon  of  the  realm  of  punch  ; 

or  rather  it  should  be  oi  paunch,  for  of  late  I've  been  patronizing  both 
sides  of  the  victualling  office. 

Tichler.  Yes,  you've  been  poaching  in  every  corner  of  Kitchener's 
preserve.  By  the  way,  how  does  the  Doctor  take  up  with  your  inter- 
ference ? 

Odoherty.  Oh  !  admirably.  We  understand  each  other  thoroughly. 
Kitchener — his  name,  by  the  by,  settles  all  disputes  about  the  doctrine 
of  predestination: — Kitchener  is  a  prime  little  fellow — an  excellent 
creature  as  earth  contains.  Why,  here's  a  man  that  has  written  three 
or  four  of  the  very  best  books  our  age  has  witnessed,  as  the  pufF-maker 
says ;  and  what's  far  better,,  my  hearties,  he  gives  one  of  the  very  best 
feeds  going — quite  the  dandy — such  sauces !  By  jingo,  I  admire  a 
man  of  this  stamp. 

Hogg.  Deil  doubts  you.  Wha  doesna  admire  them  that  can  give 
ye  baith  a  gude  book,  and  a  gude  dinner  ?  For  my  part,  I  admire  a 
man  that  gives  me  the  bare  bit  dinner,  just  itsell,  without  ony  books. 

Odoherty.  The  bare  bit  dinner !  Oh,  you  savage  !  You  have  no 
more  right,  sir,  to  open  that  cod's-mouth  of  yours,  for  the  purpose  of 
uttering  one  syllable  on  any  subject  connected  with  eating  or  drinking, 
than  Macvey  Napier  has  to  mention  Bacon,  or  Professor  Leslie  to 
stand  for  the  Hebrew  chair,*  or  a  Negro  or  a  Phrenologist  to  be  classed 
among  the  genus  rationale. — The  bare  dinner !     Oh,  ye  beast ! 

Hogg.  Some  folk  have  a  braw  notion  of  themsells.  Captain. 

Odoherty.  If  I  could  choose  now — if  I  had  Fortunatus's  cap  in  good 
earnest — I'll  tell  you  how  I  would  do — by  Jericho,  I  would  breakfast 
with  Lord  Fife  at  Marr  Lodge.  Such  pasties !  such  cakes !  what  a 
glorious  set  out,  to  be  sure  ! — I  should  then  keep  stepping  southwards 
— take  my  basin  of  mulligatawny  and  glass  of  cherry-brandy  at  Mrs. 
Montgomery's  here  en  passant — get  on  to  Belvoir,  or  Burleigh,f  or 

*  Napier's  Essay  on  Bacon  and  Leslie's  ignorance  of  Hebrew  were  Blackwood's  standing 
subjects. — M. 

t  Belvoir  Castle,  Rutlandshire,  the  residence  of  the  Duke  of  Rutland ;  Burgley  House,  Lin- 
colnshire, the  mansion  of  the  Marquis  of  Exeter .^M. 


1824.]  ODOHEETY   AS   A  BARONET.  453 

some  of  these  grand  places  on  the  road,  in  time  for  dinner,  and  tap 
just  about  twelve  at  the  door  of  the  Blue  Posts* — Prime  whisky-punch 
there,  sirs.  If  you  were  here,  I  might  probably  trace  back  a  bit  so  as 
to  drop  in  upon  your  third  bowl. 

Hogg.  Hear  to  the  craving  ne'er-do-weel ! — You'll  not  be  a  lang 
liver,  I  can  tell  you,  Captain,  if  you  go  on  at  this  rate.  You  ought  to 
marry  a  wife,  sir,  and  sit  down  for  a  decent,  respectable  head  of  a 
family — you've  had  your  braw  spell  of  devilry  now.  Marry  some  bit 
bonny  body  of  an  heiress,  man,  and  turn  over  a  new  leaf. 

Odoherty.  With  a  gilt  edge,  you  propose.  Well,  I  have  some 
thoughts  of  the  thing  ;  the  worst  of  it  is,  that  I  am  getting  oldish  now, 
and  deucedly  nice — and  I  really  distrust  myself  too.  I  have  serious 
apprehensions  that  I  might  turn  out  rather  a  quisquis  sort  of  a  Bene- 
dict. Hang  it !  I've  been  too  long  on  the  hill — they  could  never 
break  me  now — but  I'll  try  some  day,  that's  obvious. 

Hogg.  You'll  easily  get  an  heiress,  man,  wi'  that  grand  lang  nose  o' 
yours,  and  thae  bonny,  bonny  legs,  and  that  fine  yeUow  curly  head  of 
hair. 

Odoherty  {aside).  Bond  Street  growth — but  no  matter. 

Hogg.  And,  aboon  a',  your  leeterary  name.  Od,  man,  I  ken  twa 
leddies  in  the  Cowgate  that  wad  fain,  fain  have  me  to  bring  ye  some 
night  to  tea.     Bonny  birds,  Captain — will  ye  gang  ? 

Odoherty.  You  be  skinned  ! 

Tickler.  I'll  tell  you  what  my  real  views  are,  Odoherty. — Hang  it, 
I  don't  see  why  you  should  not  take  up  a  Scots  baronetcy  as  well  as  the 
Bishop  of  Winchester, f  or,  as  Johnny  Murray  called  him,  Mr.  Winton. 
I  suppose  this  sort  of  concern  don't  stand  one  much  higher  than  an 
Aberdeen  degree.     I  really  would  have  you  think  of  it.     Sir  Morgan 

and  Lady  Odoherty  request  the  honor Lady  Odoherty's  carriage 

stops  the  way! — Sir  Morgan  Odoherty's  cabriolet!! — By  Jove,  the 
thing  is  arranged ! — You  must  be  a  baronet,  my  dear  Signifer. 

Odoherty.  Hum  ! — Well,  to  oblige  you,  I  shan't  much  object  to  such 
a  trifle.     How  shall  I  set  about  it,  then,  Timothy  ? 

Tickler.  Poo ! — Find  out  that  there  was  some  Odoherty,  of  course 
there  were  many — but  no  matter  for  that — in  the  army  of  M'Fadyen, 
the  lad  that  flung  his  own  head  after  Lieutenant-General  Sir  William 
Wallace,  Baronet,  K.T.  and  C.G.B. — or  in  the  armies  of  Montrose — 
which,  by  the  by,  were  almost  all  of  them  Irish  armies  ;  secundo^  Find 
out  that  this  glorious  fellow — being,  of  course,  (as  all  gentlemen  in 
those  days  were,)  a  Knight-Bachelor — had  been  once — no  matter  from 
what  beastly  ignorance,  or  fi^jm  what  low,  fawning  vulgarity,  addn 


*  A  well-known  public  house,  in  L6ndon,  nearly  opposite  the  Haymarket  Theatre. — M, 

t  In  1823,  Dr.  Tomline,  Bishop  of  Winchester,  made  a  claim,  which  was  allowed,  to  a  Nova 

Scotia  baronetcy,  which  had  been  conferred  by  Charles  I.  on  one  of  his  ancestors.    His  son, 

however,  has  not  assumed  the  title. — M. 


454:  NOCTES  AMBKOSIAN^.  [June, 

as  a  Baronet.  Then,  tertio^  have  a  few  of  us  assembled  at  Ambrose's 
some  day  at  five  o'clock,  and  the  job  is  done. — I  myself  have  fre- 
quently acted  as  Chancellor. — I  am  quite  au  fait. 

Odoherty.  Why,  as  to  the  first  of  these  points,  I  have  no  doubt 
there  must  have  been  some  Odoherties  here  in  Montrose's  time.  As  to 
the  second,  it  obviously  must  be  so  ;  and  as  to  the  third,  by  Jupiter, 
name  your  day ! 

Tickler.  This  day  three  weeks — six  o'clock  sharp.  I  stipulate  for  a 
green  goose,  and  a  glass  of  your  own  genuine  usquebaugh.* 

Odoherty.  Thou  hast  said  it ! — stinginess  would  ill  beseem  a  man 
of  my  rank.  I  trust  his  Majesty  the  King  of  the  Sandwich  Islands 
will  be  here  in  time  to  join  us.     I  am  told  he  is  a  hearty  cock. 

Tickler.  To  be  serious — I  was  really  amazed  to  see  John  Bull, 
honest  lad,  going  into  the  Prettyman  humbug.  It  is  very  likely, 
indeed,  that  the  worthy  Bishop  himself  is  by  no  means  aware  of  the 
absurdity  of  the  system  under  which  he  supposes  himself  to  have 
acquired  the  orange  ribbon  of  Nova  Scotia.  He  has  probably  been 
led — but  no  matter,  as  to  one  particular  case.  The  fact  is,  that  if  they 
wished  to  give  us.  a  real  boon,  they  ought  to  look  to  this  subject — the 
people  above  stairs,  I  mean.  They  ought  to  bring  in  a  bill,  requiring 
that  the  man  who  wishes  to  assume  any  title  of  honor  in  Scotland 
ought  to  do  the  same  thing  which  the  House  of  Lords  demands  when 
a  man  wishes  to  take  up  a  peerage  of  Scotland.  If  that  were  done, 
the  public  would  be  satisfied,  and  the  individual  would  be  safe  from 
that  annoyance  to  which  he  must  be  subjected  so  long  as  matters  are 
managed  in  the  present  ridiculous  and  most  unlawyer-like  method. 
Why,  only  consider  what  it  is  that  the  jury  (Heaven  bless  the  name !) 
does  in  such  a  case.  The  claimant  appears,  and  demands  to  be  recog- 
nised as  the  heir  of  such  a  man,  who  died  two,  three,  or  four  centuries 
ago.  Well,  he  proves  himself  to  have  some  blood  relation  to  the 
defunct.  The  factio  juris  is,  that  when  a  man  makes  such  a  claim, 
those,  if  there  be  any,  that  have  a  better  title — a  nearer  propinquity — ■ 
will  of  course  appear  and  show  fight ;  and,  in  the  absence  of  any  such 
appearance,  the  work  of  the  said  noble  jury  is  at  once  finished.f  Now, 
in  the  case  of  a  man  making  a  claim,  which,  if  allowed,  will  give  him 
a  certain  number  of  acres,  no  doubt  the  chances  are  infinitesimal ly 
small,  that  any  person,  concerned  from  his  own  interests  in  the  redar- 
guing of  the  said  claim,  Avill  fail  to  come  forth  to  give  battle.  Nay, 
even  in  the  case  of  a  Scotchman,  of  a  Scotch  family  well  known  in  the 
history,  or  at  least  in  the  records  of  the  country,  coming  forward  with 
a  claim,  the  object  of  which  is  a  mere  honorary  matter,  such  as  a  title 
of  baronet,  the  chances   are  not  very  great,  that,  in  a  small  nation 

*  From  this  date>  the  Adjutant  is  always  mentioned  in  Blackwood  as  Sir  Morgan  Odoherty, 
Baronet !— M. 

t  It  is  from  such  a  "source"  as  tlds  that  Mr.  Humphreys  has  claimed  the  Earldom  of 
Stirling. — M. 


1824.]  NOVA   SCOTIA   BAKONETCIES.  455 

where  every  body  knows  every  body,  and  where  all  are  very  mu*fh 
taken  up  about  titular  trifles — the  chances  are  not  great,  that  even  a 
claimant  of  this  order  will  be  allowed  to  walk  the  course ;  but  in  the 
case  of  an  Englishman,  of  whose  family  nobody  in  Scotland  ever  heard 
a  word,  coming  down  and  wanting  a  title,  to  which  nobody  in  Scotland 
can  of  couse  have  any  claim — in  this  case,  no  doubt,  the  most  perfect 
apathy  must  prevail.  The  Bishop  may  be  in  the  right ;  but  I,  and  all 
the  world  besides,  must  continue  to  regard  with  suspicion  the  assump- 
tion of  a  title,  the  patent  for  which  is  not  produced,  unless  the  clearest 
evidence  as  to  the  tenor  of  the  patent  be  produced. 

Odoherty.  Then,  what  is  the  Bishop's  way  to  get  out  of  the  scrape  ? 

Tickler.  Why,  in  the  present  state  of  matters,  I  see  but  one.  He 
ought  to  bring  an  action  before  the  Court  of  Sessions  against  some 
friend  of  his,  no  matter  about  what,  assuming  the  style  of  baronet  in 
his  "  summons,"  as  we  call  it — that  is,  in  his  original  writ.  The  friend 
may  put  in  his  objection  to  the  style  under  which  the  Bishop  sues,  and 
then  the  Court  will  be  open  to  hear  him  defend  his  right  to  use  the 
said  style.     In  this  way  the  whole  matter  may  be  cleared  up. 

Hogg.  There's  naebody  cares  ae  boddle  about  sic  matters — they're 
a'  just  clean  havers.  I  own  I  do  like  to  hear  of  a  real  grand  auld 
name  like  the  house  of  Mark  being  restored  to  their  ain.  That  is  a 
thing  to  please  a  Scottish  heart.  The  Earl  of  Marr !  There's  not  a 
nobler  sound  in  Britain. 

Tickler.  Quite  so,  Hogg.  But  was  there  ever  such  beastliness  as 
Brougham's  ?  Why,  in  seconding  Peel's  motion  for  dispensing  with 
the  personal  appearance  of  an  old  gentleman  of  near  ninety  in  London, 
what  topic,  think  ye,  does  this  glorious  fellow  dare  to  make  the  ground 
on  which  he  (Brougham)  solicits  the  indulgence  of  Parliament  ?  Why, 
this — that  Mr.  Erskine  of  Marr  is  distinguished  for  his  liberal  opin- 
ions !  !  !  Egregious  puppy  !  what  had  old  Marr's  politics  to  do  with 
the  matter  ?  They  are  Whig,  and  so  much  the  worse  for  him  ;  but 
conceive  only  "the  bad  taste — the  abominable  taste — -of  this  fellow's 
lugging  in  the  old  man's  whiggery  as  a,  recommendation  of  him  to 
the  House  of  Commons,  at  the  very  moment  when  the  House  was 
about  to  pass  a  bill  conferring  high  honors  on  the  old  man — a  bill 
originating,  no  doubt,  in  the  high  pereonal  feelings  of  the  King,  but 
still  owing  its  existence  there  to  the  support  of  the  King's  Tory  minis- 
ters. Such  insolence  is  really  below  all  contempt.  I  wonder  Peel  did 
not  give  him  a  wipe  or  two  in  return. 

Odoherty.  The  sulky  insolent ! 

Hogg.  The  born  gowk ! 

Tickler.  For  cool,  rancorous,  deliberate  impudence,  give  me,  among 
all  Whigs,  Brougham !  Only  think  of  his  daring,  after  all  that  has 
happened,  to  say  one  word  in  the  House  of  Commons,  when  the  topic 
before  them  referred,  in  any  degree,  however  remote,  to  an  act  of 


456  NOCTES   AMBROSIAN^.  [June,  1824. 

generous  and  magnanimous  condescension  of  that  monarch  whom,  on 
the  Queen's  trial,  he  and  his  friend  Denman  dared  to  speak  of  as,  we 
can  never  forget,  they  did  !* 

Odoherty.  I  confess  Brougham  is  a  fine  specimen.  By  the  way, 
what  is  all  this  piece  of  work  about  changes  in  your  Scots  Courts  of 
Law? 

Tickler.  It  is  a  piece  of  work  originating  in  the  by  no  manner  of 
means  unnatural  aversion  of  the  Chancellor  to  a  law  of  which  he  is 
ignorant,  and  carried  on  by  the  base  and  fawning  flattery  (which  he 
should  have  seen  through)  of  certain  low  Scotch  Whigs,  who,  nourish- 
ing the  vile  hope  that,  change  once  introduced,  changes  may  be  mul- 
tiplied, are  too  happy  to  find,  in  the  best  Tory  of  England,  their  ally 
in  a  plan  which  has  for  its  real  object  the  destruction  of  all  that  is 
most  dear  and  valuable  to  Scotland,  and  of  course  held  and  prized  as 
such  by  the  Tories  of  Scotland.  But  the  low  arts  by  which  the  whole 
afi'air  has  been  got  up  and  got  on — the  absurdity  of  the  proposed  inno- 
vations, and  in  particular,  the  pitiable  imbecility  with  which  the  whole 
real  concerns  of  the  Jury  Court — that^oS — are  blinked — all  these  shall 
ere  long  be  exposed  in  a  full,  and,  I  hope,  a  satisfactory  manner.  I 
shall  demolish  them  in  ten  pages.  Down — down — down  shall  they 
lie — never  to  rise  again — or  my  name  is  not  Timothy. 

Odoherty.  A  letter  to  Jeffrey,  I  suppose  ? 

Tickler.  Even  so  let  it  be.     My  word,  I'll  give  him  a  dose. 

Hogg.  It's  aye  a  pleasure  to  you  to  be  paiking  at  him — I  wonder 
you're  not  wearied  o't. 

Tickler.  I  am  wearied  of  it — but  duty,  Hogg,  duty  ! 

Hogg.  It's  my  duty  to  tell  you,  that  the  bottom  of  the  bowl  has 
been  visible  this  quarter  of  an  hour.  {Rings) 


*  As  "  worse  than  the  Roman  Nero." — M. 


457 


No.  XVI.— AUGUST,  1824 


Odoherty.  By  the  way,  North,  have  you  seen  a  little  book  lately 
put  forth  by  Hurst  and  Robinson,  "  On  the  Present  State  of  the  Peri- 
odical Press  ?"     The  subject  is  worth  your  notice,  I  should  think. 

North.  Certainly,  Ensign.  I  have  considered  the  subject  pretty 
seriously,  I  believe,  and  I  have  also  seen  the  duodecimo  you  mention.* 
But  I  am  not  so  well  skilled  in  the  minutiae  of  these  affairs  as  to  be 
able  to  give  any  opinion  as  to  its  minute  accuracy. 

Odoherty.  I  don't  mean  to  swear  for  all  the  particulars  neither,  for 
I  have  only  dipped  into  it ;  but  it  seemed  to  me  that  there  was  an  air 
of  credibility  over  what  little  I  read  of  it.  How  did  you  find  it  as  to 
the  Journals  with  which  you  are  really  acquainted  ? 

North.  Really,  I  cannot  pretend  to  be  really  acquainted  with  many 
of  them.  Blackwood  and  the  Quarterly  are  the  only  ones  of  the 
greater  class  that  I  always  read  ;  and  as  for  the  23apers,  you  know,  I 
have  long  been  contented  with  the  Courier,  New  Times,  John  Bull, 
and  Cobbett.  I  used  to  take  the  Chronicle  while  Jamie  Pirie  lived,f 
and  I  took  in  the  Examiner  till  his  Majesty  of  Cockaigne  went  to 
Italy.     Of  late  I  see  none  of  these  trash. 

Odoherty.  Pooh  !  that's  nonsense — you  should  see  every  thing. 

North.  Sir,  I  can't  read  without  spectacles  now-a-days ;  and  I  am 
very  well  pleased  to  let  Tickler  read  the  Edinburgh  and  Westminster 
for  me,  and  you  may  do  the  same  for  me,  if  you  have  a  mind,  quoad 
the  minor  diurnals  of  the  same  faction.  Cobbett  I  always  must  read, 
because  Cobbett  always  must  write.     I  enjoy  my  Cobbett. 

*  This  hroGhure^  published  anonymously,  was  written  by  the  late  Robert  Alexander,  at  one 
time  connected  with  two  scandalous  Scottish  papers,  {The  JBeacon,  in  Edinburgh,  and  The 
Senthiel,  in  Glasgow,)  and  afterwards  successively  editor  of  JPliiidelPs  Wefstern  LumijiarT/, 
in  Exeter,  the  Watchman,  in  London,  the  London  Morning  Journal,  the  Liverpool  Stand- 
ard, and  the  Liverpool  Mail.  Alexander  was  conducting  the  Morning  Journal  when  Wel- 
lington and  Peel  astonished  their  own  Tory  party  by  introducing  and  carrying  the  Catholic 
Relief  Bill  in  1829.  He  was  bitterly  personal  on  the  Ministry,  for  what  he  called  their 
"  treachery."  His  animadversions  must  have  deeply  galled  them,  for  it  was  determined  .to 
prosecute  him  for  libel,  wlienever  a  good  casus  hMi  should  occur  Alexander,  who  was  au- 
dacious and  imprudent,  wrote  an  article  accusing  the  Duke  of  Wellington  of  an  intention  of 
making  himself  Dictator,  for  the  purpose  of  marrying  his  eldest  son,  then  24,  to  the  present 
Queen  Victoria,  a  child  aged  11.  For  this  lie  was  tried,  convicted,  and  imprisoned.  The  re- 
sult was  the  suppression  of  the  Morning  Journal.  In  1833,  he  went  to  Liverpool  to  conduct 
a  local  paper  called  The  Standard.  In  1836,  he  commenced  the  Liverpool  3fail,  on  which  he 
continued  until  his  death,  in  February,  1864,  aged  flfty-eiglit.  He  was  a  strong,  hard-hitting 
writer  ;  a  man  of  simple  tastes  ;  a  faithful  friend ;  a  consistent  politician  ;  and  extremely 
fond  of  the  innocent  prattle  of  children. — M. 

t  James  Peri-y,  proprietor  of  the  London  3forning  Chronicle,  was  a  native  of  Aberdeen, 
and  his  original  n.ame  was  Pirie. — 31. 

VOL.  I.  20 


458  NOCTES    A]\rBR03IAN.E.  [Aug. 

Odoherty.  Surely,  surely.  But  what  think  ye  of  the  proposal  which 
this  new  scribe  sets  forth  ?  I  mean  his  great  plan  for  having  the  duties 
on  the  newspapers  lightened  ?     What  will  Robinson*  say  to  that  ? 

North.  I  have  very  little  doubt  that  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer 
will,  in  the  course  of  a  few  sessions,  bring  in  and  carry  through  a  bill 
for  this  purpose.  It  is  the  only  way  to  level  the  arrogance  of  those 
great  a-thousand-times-over-be-cudgelled  monsters — I  mean  the  Old 
Times  and  such  like — the  worst  disgrace  of  the  nation. 

Odoherty.  It  would  do  that,  to  be  sure,  with  a  vengeance ;  but 
would  not  the  revenue  get  some  sore  slaps  ? 

North.  Not  one  cuff,  [  honestly  believe.  These  overgrown  scampish 
concerns  are,  at  present,  enabled  to  brave,  not  merely  the  influence  of 
government,  for  it  is  no  evil,  but  a  great  good,  that  newspapers  should 
be  independent  of  this — no,  no,  that  is  not  what  I  think  of — but  the 
general  indignation  of  all  honest  men  of  all  parties,  the  wide,  the  deep, 
the  universal  scorn  with  which  the  whole  virtue  and  sense  of  the  British 
people  regard  the  unblushing,  open,  avowed,  acknowledged,  even 
boasted  profligacy,  of  some  of  those  establishments.  . 

Odoherty.  They  are  so  to  a  certain  extent,  I  admit ;  but,  surely,  the 
httle  book  exaggerates  their  triumphs. 

North.  I  don't  know  that,  nor  do  I  care  for  a  few  hundreds  or 
thousands,  more  or  less.  But  this  I  am  certain  of,  that  if  the  duty  on 
the  advertisements  were  considerably  lowered,  and  also  the  duty  on 
the  newspapers  themselves,  two  consequences  would  infallibly  be  the 
result.  People  would  advertise  in  more  papers  than  they  do  at  pre- 
sent, and  people  would  take  in  more  papers.  These  are  clear  and 
obvious  consequences,  and  from  them  I  hold  it  scarcely  less  certain, 
that  two  others  would  ensue.  I  mean,  that  an  honest  new  paper 
would  contend  on  more  equal  terms  with  a  dishonest  old  one,  and  that 
the  far  greater  number  of  advertisements  published,  and  the  far  greater 
number  of  newspapers  circulated  in  the  country,  would  more  than 
atone  to  the  Exchequer  for  the  loss  Mr.  Robinson  might  at  first  sight 
apprehend,  from  a  measure  so  bold  and  decided  as  that  of  striking  off" 
one-half  of  the  newspaper  tax,  and  of  the  tax  on  advertisements. 

Odoherty.  Which  are 

North.  Threepence-halfpenny  on  each  copy  of  each  newspaper — 
and  three  and  sixpence  on  every  thing,  however  trifling,  that  assumes 
the  character  of  an  advertisement. 

Odoherty.  I  confess  it  appears  a  little  hard  to  tax  journals  of  one 
sort  so  heavily,  and  journals  of  another  sort  not  at  all.  Why  not  tax 
a  Magazine  or  a  Review,  as  well  ?  '  • 

North.  Certainly.  The  excuse  is,  that  newspapers  are  carried  post- 
age-free ;  but  this  is,  of  course,  quite  inapplicable  to  the  enormous  pro- 

*  Frederick  Robinson,  then  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer,  and  now  Earl  of  Ripon. — M. 


1824]  LONDON   NEWSPAPERS.  459 

portion  of  all  papers  circulated  exclusively  in  London  and  its  suburbs 
— and  it  is  far  too  much  to  make  a  man  living  in  Bond  Street  pay 
threepence-halfpenny,  in  order  that  a  man  living  in  the  Orkney  Islands 
may  get  his  newspaper  so  much  the  cheaper.*  , 

Odoherty.  Viewed  in  one  light  it  may  seem  so  ;  but  do  you  not  see 
the  policy  in  those  days  of  trying  to  make  the  provinces  balance  the 
capital,  by  equalizing  their  condition  as  to  all  such  things,  in  so  far  as 
it*is  by  any  means  possible  to  do  so  ? 

North.  Very  true  too,  sir.  But  I  can  tell  you  this,  Odoherty,  that 
I  see  very  great  danger  in  this  same  balancing  and  equalizing  you  talk 
of,  and  nothing  so  likely  to  meet  the  danger  as  the  adoption  of  the 
plan  I  am  lauding.  It  is  obvious,  that  the  speedy  conveyance  of  the 
papers  published  in  the  capital  into  every  part  of  the  empire,  is  grad- 
ually enabling  those  who  influence  the  political  feelings  of  the  capital 
to  influence  also,  and  this  almost  in  the  same  moment  of  time,  the  feel- 
ings of  the  remotest  provincialists.  Thus,  in  another  way  to  be  sure, 
London  bids  fair  to  become  to  Britain,  what  Paris  has  so  long  been  to 
France ; — and  that  London  never  can  become,  sir,  without  the  whole 
character,  not  only  of  the  Constitution,  but  of  the  nation,  suffering  an 
essential  and  most  perilous  change.  To  check  the  danger  of  this,  I 
again  tell  you,  I  see  nothing  half  so  likely,  as  the  adoption  of  a  scheme 
which  will  at  once  deprive  old  hard  determined  villany  of  its  exclusive 
means  of  lucre,  and  soon  reduce  all  papers  whatever  under  a  decent 
measure  of  subjection  to  the  general  opinion  of  decent  society.  Sir, 
had  there  been  no  three-and-sixpence  duty  on  advertisements,  the 
thirty  or  forty  traders  who  own  the  Times  would  not  have  dared  to 
meet  together  in  a  tavern,  and  decide  by  a  vote,  whether  that  already 
infamous  journal  should,  or  should  not,  double  its  load  of  infamy,  by 
fighting  the  battle  of  the  late  miserable  Queen.f  This  maximum  op- 
probrium had  been  spared. 

*  In  1824,  upon  every  single  newspaper  there  was  a  stamp  which  cost  four  pence,  (eight 
cents,)  less  20  percent,  discount.  At  that  time,  there  was  a  duty  of  three  shillings  and  six- 
pence (84  cents)  upon  each  advertisement.  A  slight  equivalent  for  the  stamp-duty  was 
afforded  by  allowing  all  newspapers  to  be  carried,  free  of  charge,  through  the  post-ofSce.  In 
September,  1836,  a  remission  of  these  duties,  commonly  called  "  Taxes  upon  Knowledge," 
came  into  effect.  The  newspaper  duty  was  diminished  to  one  penny  (two  cents)  on  each 
newspaper,  i  nd  one  cent  for  supplements.  At  the  same  time,  the  duty  was  reduced  from  84 
to  36  cents  on  each  advertisement.  In  August,  1853,  the  advertisement  duty  was  wholly 
abolished,  and  the  supplement  stamp  further  reduced.  As  The  Times  has  not  abated  its 
charges,  it  thus  gains  36  cents  extra  on  each  advertisement,  and  the  reduction  in  the  supple- 
ment duty  has  enabled  it  to  extend  its  daily  sale  from  44,000  (beyond  which  it  previously 
could  not  print,  to  sell  at  10  cents  each  copy,  without  loss)  to  73,000,  which  are  its  numbers  at 
the  present  date  [July,  1854].  These  changes  have  put  £100,000  per  annum  extra  profit  in 
the  treasury  of  The  Times,  inasmuch  as  it  has  wholly  appropriated  to  itself  the  benefits  of  the 
reduction  legislatively  intended  for  the  public.  All  British  newspapers  continue  to  be  carried 
free  by  the  post-office,  but  it  is  probable  that  the  law  will  be  further  amended,  so  as  to  pro- 
vide that  newspapers  which  do  not  pass  through  the  post-office  shall  be  unstamped,  and  that 
only  those  which  are  so  conveyed  shall  bear  a  penny  stamp,  or  be  charged  with  a  penny 
postage. — M. 

t  It  was  reported,  and  obtained  many  believers,  that,  early  in  1820,  on  the  accession  of 
George  IV.,  when  a  difficulty  appeared  likely  to  arise  about  his  wife,  the  proprietors  of  The 
Times  met  and  had  a  long  discussion  as  to  the  part  that  journal  should  take  in  the  coming 


460  N0CTE8    A]\rBEOSIANiE.  [Atio. 

Odoherty.  I  don't  follow  you  exactly — why  ? 

North.  I  can't  help  it,  if  you  can't  see  what  is  to  me  as  plain  as  any 
pike-staff..  A  groom  out  of  place  advertises  in  only  one  paper,  because 
he  can't  afford  to  pay  two  three-and-sixpences  to  the  King — make  the 
duty  only  one  shilhng  and  ninepence,  and  he  will  give  himself  the 
benefit  of  two  advertisements,  and  a  clever  lad  is  he  if  he  finds  means 
to  patronize  another  paper  as  blackguard  as  the  Times.  But  I  take 
much  wider  ground  than  all  this,  sir.  If  the  newspaper  press,  partic- 
ularly the  Sunday  one,  were  as  free  and  unshackled  (I  mean  as  to 
taxes)  as  every  other  press  is,  we  could  not  see  it  so  infinitely  above 
any  other  press  that  exists  on  the  score  of  profligacy.  We  could  not 
see  it  the  daily,  the  hourly  practice  of  a  newspaper  to  take  bribes,  if 
the  bribers  were,  in  consequence  of  a  greater  competition,  compelled 
to  bribe  many  more  than  they  at  present  have  to  do  with.  Thus,  for 
example,  we  should  see  no  more  of  the  scandalous  subjection  to  the 
interests  of  particular  Stock-jobbers  and  brokers* — we  should  have  no 
more  of  those  egregious  lies  which  every  day  shows  and  detects — we 
should  have  no  more  of  those  attacks  on  men  who  pay  ten  guineas  next 
day  or  next  week,  to  have  their  characters  vindicated.  This  most  cry- 
ing evil  of  open  venality  would  at  least  be  greatly,  very  greatly  dimin- 
ished. 

Odoherty.  Well,  I  had  rather  see  than  hear  tell  of  it,  as  Hogg's 
phrase  is. 

North.  You  remember  what  Clement  of  the  Observer  did  about  the 
trial  of  Thistlewood.  The  court  prohibited  in  the  most  solemn  manner 
the  publication  of  any  part  of  the  evidence,  in  any  one  of  that  batch 
of  trials,  until  the  whole  had  been  terminated.  Mr.  Clement  was  the 
only  one  who  disobeyed  this.  Well,  he  was  ordered  into  court,  and 
fined  £500  for  the  contempt — and  what  followed  ? 

Odoherty.  I  can't  charge  my  memory,  i'faith,  with  such  doings. 

North.  Why,  he  paid  the  money,  and  after  he  had  done  so,  very 
coolly  informed  the  public,  that  he  had  not  only  paid  the  fine  out  of 
the  extra  pi'ofits  of  the  paper  containing  the  offensive  matter,  but  put, 
over  and  above,  a  very  handsome  sum  into  his  own  pocket.f  This 
was  as  it  should  be  ! 

Odoherty.  Quite  so. 

contest.  It  was  decided,  by  a  majority  of  one,  that  it  would  side  with  the  Queen,  which  it  did, 
with  great  force  and  success,  from  the  time  her  name  was  first  mentioned  in  Parliament,  in 
February,  1S20,  until  and  after  her  death  in  August,  1821.— M. 

*  It  has  never  been  attributed  to  The  Times  that  it  took  advantage  of  its  peculiar  sources 
of  information  for  stock-jobbing  purposes.  On  the  contrary,  the  Morning  Chronicle,  under 
Sir  John  Easthope,  himself  a  member  of  the  Stock  Exchange,  was  strongly  suspected  as  hav- 
ing been  used  by  him  to  bull  or  bear  particular  stocks  as  his  interests  required. — M, 

t  Mr.  Clement  sold  over  200,000  copies  of  the  Observer,  with  the  report  of  Arthur  Thistle- 
wood's  trial  for  high  treason.  Taking  the  nett  profit  on  each  number  to  be  three  cents,  the 
nmount  would  be  £1250  on  that  single  issue,  (to  say  nothing  of  its  acting  as  the  very  best 
advertisement  of  the  paper,)  so  that,  by  disobeying  the  order  of  the  Court,  he  cleared 
£750.— M.. 


1824."]  NEWSPAPEK   STAMPS.  461 

North.  The  second  part  of  my  plan  would,  however,  tell  quite  as 
severely  on  many  other  quacks,  as  on  the  quacks  of  the  Daily  and 
Weekly  papers.-  If  it  cost  less  to  advertise,  more  would  advertise. 
Your  King  Solomon  would  have  brothers  nearer  the  throne.  In  short, 
the  thing  by  being  egregiously  overdone  at  the  first  would  soon  and 
effectually  correct  itself.  This  is  very  well  argued  in  the  little  book 
you  have  tabled. 

Odoherty.  Be  it  so.  But  things  will  go  on  in  the  old  way,  notwith- 
standing. To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  skipped  all  that  affair  at  once,  as 
unquestionable  balaam.  What  I  looked  to  was  the  individual  history 
of  the  different  Journals — their  comparative  sales,  &c.  &c.  &c. 

North.  All  which,  much  distrusting,  I  scarcely  gave  one  glance  to. 

Odoherty.  Distrusting  ?     Why  ? 

North.  Why  ?  for  this  simple  reason,  sir,  that  there  is  no  means  of 
ascertaining  the  actual  sale  of  any  one  newspaper  in  existence.  They 
themselves,  to  be  sure,  pretend,  that,  when  they  refer  you  to  the  Stamp 
Office,  which  will  prove  incontestably  the  issuing  of  so  many  thousand 
stamps,  for  such  and  such  a  paper,  it  is  impossible  for  any  man  in  his 
senses  to  doubt  that  that  number  of  the  Times,  the  Chronicle,  or  what- 
ever it  be,  was  actually  distributed  among  the  British  public  on  the 
day  alleged.  But  this  is  all  the  merest  bam.  The  fact,  sir,  is — and  I 
know  it — that  it  is  the  daily  custom  of  the  London  papers  to  send  and 
pay  for  a  vast  number  of  stamped  sheets  more  than  they  want.  Some 
provincial  paper  or  other  is  happy  to  make  use  of  .their  surplus  paper, 
provided  the  London  office  will  only  save  them  the  trouble  of  having 
a  separate  agent  of  their  own  in  town,  to  get  their  stamps  for  them. 
One  .paper,  one  of  the  principal  proprietors  of  which  confessed  the  fact 
to  me  t'other  day,  supplies  regularly  no  less  than  fifteen  difterent  pro- 
vincial prints  with  their  stamped  paper  in  this  way  :  but,  although  I 
did  not  exactly  put  that  question,  it  cannot  be  doubted  the  whole  ag- 
gregated sale  of  the  said  fifteen  is  made  to  figure  as  part  and  parcel  of 
the  circulation  of  my  friend's  own  concern,  in  the  yearly  or  half-yearly 
statements  thereof,  which  you  are  in  the  habit  of  staring  over.'* 

Odoherty.  All  this  is,  I  confess,  news  to  me.  So  you  believe  nothing, 
then,  of  the  statements  they  all  do  put  forth  ? 

North.  Nothing ;  unless  I  happen  to  know  of  my  own  knowledge, 
that  the  property  and  management  of  the  paper  (for  I  don't  speak  at 
present  of  either  of  these  taken  separately)  are  united  in  the  hands  of 
a  man  above  having  any  connections  with  the  promulgation  of  any 


*  No  doubt  this  was  done,  and  thus  a  fictitious  circulation  was  claimed  by  some  papers.  To 
prevent  this,  a  series  of  new  dies  came  into  use,  in  September,  1S36,  by  which  t»very  news- 
paper stamp  bore  the  name  of  the  particular  journal  on  which  it  was  placed.  This  enabled 
the  Stamp  Office  to  make  an  annual  return  of  the  number  of  stamps  actually  taken  out  by  each 
newspaper.  After  such  return  had  been  issued  for  years,  causing  perpetual  disputes  among 
rival  journals,  as  to  "  comparative  circulation,"  it  was  complained  of  as  too  inquisitorial,  and 
has  appeared  only  once  during  a  long  period. — M. 


462  NOCTES   AMBEOSIANiE.  [Aua. 

falsehood  on  any  subject  whatever.  Such  a  man  as  Stoddart  or  Mud- 
ford,  for  example — nobody  beheves  they  would  lie  for  any  thing,  far 
less  for  this  sort  of  filth. 

Odoherty.  Certainly  not.  By  the  by,  now  you  mention  it,  I  was 
thunderstruck  to  find  it  laid  down  distinctly,  that  the  total  number  of 
pohtical  journals  circulated  in  the  British  islands  has  trebled — yes, 
trebled,  within  the  last  forty  years. 

North.  No  wonder.  The  American  Revolution — the  French  Revo- 
lution— Bonaparte — Wellington — the  stream  of  events,  and  the  im- 
mense increase  of  readers  of  every  thing  else — when  you  take  this  into 
view,  no  wonder  at  the  increase  about  the  newspapers. 

Odoherty.  I  suppose  nobody  ever  heard  of  such  editions  of  even  the 
best  books  a  hundred  years  ago,  as  we  now  daily  hear  of. 

North.  No;  not  at  all.  In  Pope's  time,  sir,  500  copies  was  a  great 
edition — you  will  find  this  taken  for  granted  in  all  the  books  of  the 
time.  Even  in  Dr.  Johnson's  time,  750  was  reckoned  a  very  large 
edition  of  the  most  popular  book,  by  the  most  popular  author  of  his 
day.  Even  twenty  years  back,  things  were  in  a  totally  different  con- 
dition from  what  we  are  now  accustomed  to.  What  would  any  body 
have  said  to  an  edition  of  10,000  or  12,000  of  a  new  novel?  What 
would  any  body  have  said  to  a  review  selling  12,000  or  14,000  regu- 
larly every  number,  as  I  believe  the  Quarterly  has  done,  for  several 
years  back  ?  Sir,  this  business  has  progressed  in  the  most  astonishing 
ratio. 

Odoherty.  Ay,  i'faith,  and  nobody  has  more  reason  to  rub  his  hands 
thereupon  than  yourself. 

North.  So- — well,  well,  let  that  pass — now  that  your  cigar  is  out, 
pray  have  the  kindness  to  unlock  the  balaam-box  here,  and  let's  see 
what's  to  go  on ;  for  the  12th  draweth  on,  and  my  heart  panteth  for 
Brae-mar. 

Odoherty.  And  that's  what  I  will  do,  my  hearty  ;  and  many's  the 
time  we  have  done  more  for  each  other  before  this  night  was  born. 
Here,  give  me  the  key ;  you  always  keep  it  at  your  watch,  I  think. 

North.  There  it  is  ;  take  care  of  my  grandmother's  repeater  ; — 'tis 
the  little  queer-looking  fellow,  with  the  B.  B.  B.  B.  woven  in  cipher 
upon  it. 

Odoherty.  What,  four  B's  ? 

North.  Yes.  Bailie — Blackwood's — Balaam — Box.  'Tis  his  box, 
you  know, — because,  according  to  our  friend's  verses  long  ago,  out  of 
every  one  of  these  bunches  it  is  highly -probable 

"  Our  worthy  Publisher  puiioins  a  few 
About  his  roasting-mutton  shanks  to  screw ^" 

Odoherty.  Here's  something  in  old  Tickler's  fist — shall  we  begin 
with  overhauling  that  lad  ? 


1824.]  TICKLER   ON   MACKINTOSH.  4g3 

North.  Certainly.  Does  lie  mean  to  stay  all  the  summer  in  Dublin, 
I  wonder  ?     Read  him,  Morgan. 

Odoherty  {reads).  "  Letters  of  Timothy  Tickler,  Esq.,  to  Eminent 
Literary  Characters,  Number  — to  Sir  James  Mackintosh,  Knt., 

late  Recorder  of  Bombay " 

North.  What  ?  what  ?  what  ?  Sir  Jamie  again  ? 

Odoherty.  Pooh  !  don't  be  alarmed — one  would  have  thought  you 
had  seen  Parr's  wig  or  Gerald's  ghost,  or  the  Bonassus  rampant — 'tis 
only  a  letter  to  Sir  Jamie,  I  perceive,  about  his  articles  on  Brodie's  His- 
tory, and  Croker's  edition  of  the  Suffolk  Papers,  in  the  last  Edinburgh 
Review. 

North.  Come,  that's  rather  too  much,  llmotheus.  I  thought  he  had 
sufficiently  squabashed  those  two  concerns  in  one  of  his  late  effusions 
•to  Jeffrey.     But  read  on. 

Odoherty.  Excuse  me — 'tis  a  cursed  small  hand — I  see  it  begins  as 
usual  with  a  philippic  anent  things  in  general^ — "Burke" — "Pitt" — 
"  Gibbon"—"  Hume"—"  Brodie"— "  Charles"—"  Colonel  Harrison" 
— ay,  ay,  we  may  hop  over  a  little  of  this  ground.  "  Your  last  Number, 
sir," — here  we  are  more  likely  to  have  something — "Flagrant" — "  ca- 
lumnious"— Pooh  !  pooh  !  what  a  pother  about  nothing !  Come, 
here's  something  in  double  column,  and  one  half  in  red  ink,  I  swear. 
Listen  to  him  here,  North — {reads) — "It  may  be  thought  that  the 
trivial  punishment  I  have  already  inflicted  on  your  critique  was  as 
much  as  the  affair  merited.  It  may  be  so,  very  prol)ably.  But  it  so 
happens,  sir,  that  you  have  to  do  with  a  queer  old  gentleman,  three- 
fourths  of  whose  iibrar}^  is  made  up  of  old  books,  and  one-half  of  whose 
time  is  spent  in  hunting  up  and  down  among  them  in  quest  of  matters 
nearly  as  insignificant  as  the  party  spleen  of  an  Edinburgh  Reviewer, 
or  the  historical  accuracy  of  a  Sir  James  Mackintosh."  Come,  Timo- 
thy gets  prosy. 

North.  Let  me  hear  the  double  column  part  of  it. 

Odoherty.  Oh  !  it  is  infernally  long — I  haven't  wind  for  it,  really. 

North.  A  specimen,  then — corrections  of  Sir  James's  corrections  as 
to  matters  of  fact,  I  presume  ? 

Odoherty.  Exactly — ay,  he  puts  the  sentence  of  blue  and  yellow  on 
the  first  column,  and  his  own  in  red  ink  opposite  to  it.  Ha !  I  see 
where  he  had  begun  to  write  with  a  new  pen.  I  can  make  him  out 
here,  I  believe — here  goes,  then. 

Thus  reciteth  and  correcteth  Sir  J.      To  which  respondeth  Timothy  Tickler, 

Mackintosh,  Knt.  Esq. 

"  Hemy  Grey,  only  Duke  of  Kent,  The  Duke  of  Kent  died  tlie  5tli 
died  in  1740," /or  which  read  1741.  June,  1740.    See  London  Magazine  for 

1740,  p.  301,  and  Gent.  Mag.  for  1740, 
p.  314. 

North.  Very  well,  Timothy  ! — Go  on. 


464 


NOCTES   AMBEOSIAIJ'^. 


[Aug. 


Odoherty. 

Sir  Jamie  again. 
"Her  eldest  son,  (George,)  after- 
wards second  Lord  Hervey."  There 
was  John,  first  Lord  Ilervey,  after- 
wards created  Earl  of  Bristol.  Carr, 
SECOND  Lord  Hervey,  his  eldest  son. 
Johfix,  THIRD  Lord  Hervey,  his  second 
son;  consequently  Lady  Hervey s  son, 
George^  was  the  fourth  Lord  Hervey. 


North.  Well  hit  again,  Tim. 
Odoherty.  At  it  again,  boys. 

Sir  James  ! 
"LeQnel,    seventh   Earl,    and    first 
Dute  of  Doi^et,  died  in  1765."— i^or 
1765,  reaci  1763! 

Odoherty.  Round  fourtli ! 

The  Recorder. 
"  Lord  Scarborough  put  a  period  to 
his    existence    in    1789." — For    1739, 
read  1740. 


To  which  again  Timotheus. 

These  four  Lord  Herveys  did  really 
exist,  and  yet  the  editor  of  Lady  Suf- 
folk's Letters  is  right,  and  the  critic 
egregiousl}^  wrang. 

Jolni,  first  Lord  Hervej-,  so  created 
in  1703,  was  created  Earl  of  Bristol 
in  1714.  His  eldest  son,  Carr,  was 
o^nly  a  commoner,  called  Lord  Hervey 
by  courtesy.  So  w-as  bis  seco-nd  son 
John  for  many  years ;  but  in  1733, 
the  latter  was  created  a  peer,  (see 
Coxe,)  by  the  title  of  Lord  Hervey, 
and  on  his  death,  (old  Lord  Bristol 
being  still  alive,)  his  son  George  be- 
came the  second  peer  of  the  creation 
©f  1733,  and  on  Lord  Bristol's  death, 
he  became  also  the  second  peer  of  the 
creation  of  1703.  So  that  the  critic 
is  doubly  wrong;  and  without  any 
excuse ;  for  all  these  facts  may  be 
gathered  from  the  editor's  notes,,  as 
well  as  fromi  the  Peerages. 


Southside !  I ! 
The  Duke  of  Dorset  died  9th  Octo- 
ber, 1765.     See  London  Magazine,  p. 
598,   and   Gentleman's  Magazine,   p. 
49L 


Longshanks  !  1 1 
This  is  not  mere  inaccuracy  on  the 
part  of  the  critic  ;  it  is  ignorance.  He 
has  forgotten  that  i\\e  style  was  not  yet 
changed,  and  Lord  Scarboi-ough  died 
on  the  4th  February,  1789,  old  style. 


North.  A  facer ! — Does  lie  come  to  time  ? 
Odoherty.  Round  fifth.     Here  they  go. 


Jem  ! 
"  The  Great  Lord  Mansfield  died  on 
the  20th  of  March,  1793,  in  the  eighty- 
eighth  year  of  his  age." — Lord  Mans- 
field was  born  on  the  2d  March,  1705, 
and  was  therefore  in  the  eighty-ninth 
year  of  his  age. 


Tim ! ! ! 
I  have  already  laughed  at  the  value 
and    importance    of    this    correction, 

if  it  even  were  one  ;  but  unfortunately 
the  erudite  critic  again  forgets  the 
change  of  the  style.  March,  1705,  old 
style,  would  be  March,  1706,  new  style ; 
so  that  Lord  Mansfield  seems  to  have 
wanted  some  few  days  of  completing 
his  88th  year. 


1824.]  EOBEET   BLOOMFIELD.  465 

North.  Enough,  enough,  man  ;  such  errors  and  such  corrections 
are  in  themselves  wholly  inconsiderable,  and  not  worth  the  notice  of  a 
pipe-stapple.  It  was  ridiculous  enough  to  sea  a  solemn  jackass  set 
about  such  amendments  ;  but  to  find  that  his  grave  amendments  are, 
in  fact,  flagrant  blunders,  is  as  comical  as  any  thing  in  Mathews's 
A.merican  judge.  But  we  have  other  fish  to  fry.  Just  put  Timothy 
into  my  portfolio,  and  see  what  comes  to  hand  next. 

Odoherty.  "  Remains  of  Eobert  Bloomfield."  Ay,  poor  fellow ! 
there  was  one  genuine  poet,  though  of  the  lowly  breed. 

North.  He  was  so,  indeed,  Odoherty.  I  thought  that  book  would 
be  found  in  the  box  ;  for  I  had  a  letter  not  long  ago  mentioning  the 
thing  from  his  family.  They  sent  me,  by  the  way,  most  of  the  proof- 
sheets  of  the  book,  and  a  specimen  of  his  handwriting.  Should  you 
like  to  see  it  ? 

Odoherty.  ISTot  I;  give  it  to  DTsraeli.  He,  you  recollect,  is  one, 
not  of  the  Bumpologists,  but  of  the  Fistologists  ;  he  will  take  it  quite 
as  a  compliment. 

North.  I  dare  say  they  have  sent  him  another  letter  and  specimen 
of  the  same  cut  already.  You  must  table  your  coin  on  this  occasion, 
Odoherty.  Bloomfield,  from  no  fault  of  his  own,  has  died  poor,  and 
left  a  worthy  and  amiable  family  in  rather  dependent  condition.* 
You  must  take  a  few  copies  of  the  Remains  at  all  events. 

Odoherty.  Why,  as  neither  you  nor  I  have  any  young  ladies  to  put 
to  school,  I  don't  know  in  what  other  way  we  can  do  any  thing  for 
Bloomfield's  daughters.     Well,  put  me  down,  Editor. 

North.  I  will,  sir  ;  but  there  is  no  school  in  the  case.  Miss  Hannah 
Bloomfield,  indeed,  wishes  to  have  a  situation  as  a  musical  teacher  in 
some  respectable  family  ;  and  as  she  is  evidently,  from  what  appears  in 
these  very  volumes,  possessed  of  very  considerable  musical  taste  and 
skill,  I  trust  the  worthy  daughter  of  such  a  man  will  not  be  long  in 
getting  the  establishment  she  wishes.  The  whole  family  have  been 
brought  up,  I  well  know,  in  the  most  exemplary  manner  ;  as  indeed 
what  else  could  any  body  expect  from  the  23aternal  solicitude  of  a  man 
whose  native  strength  of  mind  kept  him  at  all  times  superior  to  the 
manifold  temptations  with  which  his  lot  naturally  surrounded  him, 
and  who,  in  every  line  he  wrote,  showed  himself  the  friend  of  virtue  ? 
Sir,  we  have  had  but  few  real  poets  from  this  class  of  people  ;  and, 
alas  !  fewer  still,  who,  like  Bloomfield,  adhered  steadily  to  the  virtuous 
feelings  of  their  lowly  youth,  when  circumstances  had  introduced  him 
to  the  dazzle  and  bustle  of  the  upper  world.  I  honor  the  memory  of 
Robert  Bloomfield. 

Odoherty.  Yes,  he  was  always  one  of  your  favorites.  I  see  they 
have  printed  here  your  pretty  verses  on  his  death — this  is  right,  too — 

*  Robert  Bloomfield,  author  of  "  The  Farmer's  Boy,"  a  rural  poem  of  great  merit,  died  in 
1823,  aged  fifty-seven. '  The  latter  part  of  his  life  was  clouded  with  poverty  and  dejection.— M. 

20* 


4:66  NOCTES    AMBEOSIAN^.  [AuG. 

and  some  verses  of  Montgomery's  also,  which  I  now  recollect  to  have 
seen  somewhere  before. 

North.  In  the  Sheffield  Iris,  probably — or  Alaric  Watts'  Leeds  In- 
telligencer— which,  by  the  way,  is  a  paper  of  very  high  merit  in  a 
literary  point  of  view ;  indeed  the  best  of  all  the  literar}^  Gazettes.* 

Odoherty.  Literary  Gazettes  ! — "What  a  rumpus  all  that  fry  have 
beea  keeping  up  about  Miss  Landon's  poetry — the  Improvisatrice,  I 
mean. 

North.  Why,  I  always  thought  you  had  been  one  of  her  greatest 
admirers,  Odoherty.  Was  it  not  you  that  told  me  she  was  so  very 
handsome  ? — A  perfect  beauty,  I  think  you  said. 

Odoherty.  And  I  said  truly.  She  is  one  of  the  sweetest  little  girls 
in  the  world,  and  her  book  is  one  of  the  sweetest  little  books  in  the 
world  ;  but  Jerdan's  extravagant  trumpeting  has  quite  sickened  every 
body ;  and  our  friend  Alaric  has  been  doing  rather  too  much  in  the 
same  fashion.  This  sort  of  stuff  plays  the  devil  with  any  book. 
Sappho  !  and  Corinna,  forsooth  !     Proper  humbug ! 

North.  I  confess  you  are  speaking  pretty  nearly  my  own  senti- 
ments. I  ran  over  the  book — and  I  really  could  see  nothing  of  the 
originality,  vigor,  and  so  forth,  they  all  chatter  about.  Very  elegant, 
nowing  verses  they  are — but  all  made  up  of  Moore  and  Byron. 

Odoherty.  Nay,  nay,  when  you  look  over  the  Improvisatrice  again, 
I  am  sure  you  will  retract  this.  You  know  very  well  that  I  am  no 
great  believer  in  female  genius ;  but  nevertheless,  there  is  a  certain 
feminine  elegance  about  the  voluptuousness  of  this  book,  which,  to  a 
certain  extent,  marks  it  with  an  individual  character  of  its  own.j-    • 

North.  I  won't  allow  you  to  review  this  book,  my  dear  Standard- 

*  The  Sheffield  Iris,  and  the  Leeds  Intelligencer,  then  edited  by  James  Montgomery  and 
Alaric  Watts,  were  somewhat  literary  in  1824,  when  no  other  provincial  newspapers  ever  con- 
tained an  original  critique  upon  a  new  book.  It  is  different  now,  and  there  now  is  nearly  as 
much  talent,  comparatively  speaking,  on  the  British  provincial  press,  as  there  is  on  the  Lon- 
don press.  James  Montgomery  thought  so  well  of  his  shorter  literary  articles  in  the  Sheffield 
Iris,  that  he  collected  them,  in  two  volumes,  as  "  Prose  by  a  Poet." — M. 

+  Odoherty  very  much  flattered  L.  E.  L.,  when  he  allowed  North  to  (Igscinbe  her  as  "  very 
handsome,"  and  "  a  perfect  beauty."  She  narrowly  escaped  being  a  dowdy.  Her  figure  was 
petite,  her  manner  natural  and  impulsive,  her  voice  sweet  and  low,  ("  an  excellent  thing  in 
women,"  if  they  would  only  recollect  it !)  and  her  whole  bearing  was  that  of  a  child-woman, 
(she  was  twenty-two  in  1824,  and  looked  seventeen,)  delighted  with  society,  and  feeling  bound 
to  please.  Graceful  in  motion — charming  in  repose, — yet  by  no  means  handsome, — Miss 
Landon  was  about  the  last  person  on  earth  whom,  meeting  in  a  drawing-room,  you  would  sus- 
pect of  authorship.  Yet  she  composed  poetry  rapidly  as  her  own  Improvisatrice — writing  her 
verses,  scarcely  ever  with  an  emendation,  in  her  small,  neat,  upright,  old-fashioned  hand. 
Quick,  lively,  and  epigrammatic  in  conversation  as  she  was,  I  never  saw  any  woman,  save 
cne, — and  she  is  the  loveliest,  in  mind  or  person,  whom  I  have  ever  known, — who  was  so  soli- 
citous to  avoid  scandal  and  mere  gossip.  "  Letty  Landon,"  as  she  used  to  like  to  be  called, 
was  the  safest  person  in  the  world  to  whom  a  young  author  might  speak  of  what  he  had  in  his 
mind  to  do,  for  her  human  sympathies  were  large,  her  judgment  far  riper  than  her  years,  and 
her  grasp  of  mind  vigorous  and  extended.  Tell  her  the  plot  of  a  story,  or  the  id'-a  of  a  poem, 
and,  at  once,  she  would  suggest  how  one  might  be  better  evolved  in  action,  how  the  other 
might  be  exalted  by  particular  treatment.— M.  [On  going  over  this  note  again,  at  the  last 
.  moment,  with  the  press — which,  like  time  and  tide,  waits  for  no  man — rattling  in  my  ears,  I 
am  conscious  that  I  have  not  done  full  justice  to  L.  E.  Landon.  Said  I  that  she  was  not  beauti- 
ful? C'est  vrai — but  there  is  a  beauty  far  beyond  and  far  above  mere  loveliness  of  feature. 
There  is  the  beauty  of  Expression,  and  if  ever  mortal  possessed  it,  Letitia  Landon  did.    It  is 


1824.]  JAMES    GILEAY.  467 

bearer,  for  I  perceive  you  are  half  in  love  with  the  damsel  concerned ; 
and  under  such  circumstances,  a  cool  and  dispassionate  estimate  is 
what  nobody  could  be  expected  to  give — least  of  all  you,  you  red-hot 
monster  of  Munster. 

Odoherty.  JN^o  abuse,  my  old  Bully-Rock ! 

North,  ^^ay,  'tis  you  that  must  be  called  Bully-Rock,  nov\^ — for  I 
suppose  you  acknowledge  the  "  Munster  Farmer  "  now  to  be  but  an- 
other of  your  aliases.  I  knew  you  at  the  first  page,  man.*  No  draw- 
ing of  straws  before  so  old  a  cat. 

Odoherty.  The  book  is  mine,  sir.  I  need  keep  no  secrets  from 
you. 

North.  Gad-a-mercy!  I  now  for  the  first  time  begin  to  suspect 
that  you  had  nothing  at  all  to  do  with  it. 

Odoherty.  Even  as  you  please,  most  worshipful.  These  trifles  do 
not  affect  me  or  my  equanimity. 

North.  Impenetrable,  imperturbable  brazen  face  ! — But  get  on,  man. 

Odoherty.  My  eye !  here's  Gilray  Redivivus.  Here's  the  first 
number  of  the  reprint  of  his  caricatures ;  you  must  put  on  your  spec- 
tacles, now,  Mr.  Christopher. 

North.  Ah  !  and  that  I  will,  my  hearty.  Well,  this  was  really  well 
thought  on.  What  a  pity  that  these  things  should  have  been  sinking 
into  the  great  gulf !  Ha  I  ha !  the  old  paper-money  concerns  once 
more  !  Here's  Sherry  ipsissimus.  "  Don't  take  the  notes,  John  Bull ; 
nobody  takes  notes  now-a-days ;  they  won't  even  take  mine  !"  How 
good  this  view  of  the  fine  old  sinner's  phiz  is — and  Charlie,  too,  with 
his  cockade  tricolor !     Well,  these  days  are  over. 

Odoherty.  What  a  capital  Pitt ! — The  pen  behind  the  ear,  and  all ! 
— And  John  Bull,  too — why,  Liston  never  sported  a  better  grin. 
Turn  over — ay,  ay,  this  will  do. 

North.  "  The  Broad-bottomites  getting  into  the  grand  costume  !" — 
Long  live  the  immortal  memory  of  1806.  Glorious  Charlie  !  in  what 
a  pother  you  are  shaving ! — Illustrious  Lansdowne !  in  what  majesty 
dost  thou  strut ! — Profound  Ego  !  what  gravity  is  in  thy  self-adoration! 
— Oh  dear !  oh  dear ! — That  face  of  Lord  Henry  Petty  and  that  toe 
— they  are  enough  to  kill  a  horse ! 

Odoherty.  This  grand  one  of  old  George,  with  Bony  on  his  hand, — 
how  vividly  it  recalls  to  my  memory  the  laughter  of  the  years  that 
were  !  Hang  it !  if  I  were  to  live  a  hundred  years,  I  should  never  see 
any  new  thing  to  affect  me  in  the  same  manner.  How  intensely  fa- 
miliar we  all  were  made  with  the  honest,  open,  well-larded  counte- 

mournfulto  think  of  her  as  she  was  when  first  I  saw  her,  in  1S28,  and  know  that,  in  ten  years 
from  that  time,  she  was  lying,  far  away,  in  a  grave  in  Africa.  In  1S28,  when  she  was  "  the 
life,  grace,  and  ornament  of  society,"  one  would  scarcely  have  been  extravagant  in  anticipat- 
ing that  one  so  gifted  and  so  courted  would  have  worn  a  coronet,  and  been  the  mother  of  a  line 
of  nobles,  whose  ancestral  glories  would  have  been  illumined  by  her  wondrous  genius. — M.] 

*  "  Captain  Rock  Detected,  by  a  Munster  Farmer,"  was  a  reply,  somewhat  heavy  and  lum- 
bering, from  the  pen  of  the  Rev.  Mortimer  O'Sullivan.— M. 


468  NOCTES  AMBROSIAJ^^.  [Aug. 

nance  of  Georgius  Tertius !  What  a  solemn,  fatlierly  suavity  in  his 
goggling  eyes  !  How  reverend  his  bob-major  !  how  grand  his  blue 
ribbon  !  how  ample  his  paunch  !  What  a  sweet  in-falling  of  the  chin, 
honest  old  cock  ! 

North.  Excellent  monarch !  Pater  patriae  truly,  if  ever  there  was 
one.  Here,  again,  is  a  very  worthy  one  ;  one  of  Gilray's  very  best 
things,  Odoherty.  Behold  Nap,  en  gingerbread  baker,  thrusting  a 
new  batch  of  pie-crust  kings  into  his  oven.  Ye  glorious  Josephs, 
Jeromes,  Louises  1 — where  are  ye  all  now  ? — quite  chop-fallen  !— Ba- 
varia !  Wirtemburg  !  Baden  ! — Ah  !  Morgan,  what  queer  times  these 
were,  my  man ! 

Odoherty.  Indeed  they  were,  old  royster ;  and  may  they  that  wish 
for  the  like  of  them  find  the  short  cut  to  Gehenna,  say  I.  We  have 
no  political  caricaturist  now-a-days.  North.* 

North.  Why,  George  Cruikshank  does  many  things  better;  and 
yet  it  is  impossible  to  deny  great  merit  to  many  of  his  things  about 
the  time  of  the  Queen's  row.  Alderman  Wood  was  quite  a  hero  for 
the  pencil,  and  her  Majesty  was  such  a  heroine.f  Of  late  he,  or  who- 
ever feeds  the  shop  windows,  has  fallen  oif  sadly.  The  whole  batch 
of  the  Battier  concerns  was  deplorably  stupid,  and  as  for  the  Windsor- 
Park  sketches,  saw  ye  ever  such  a  leaden,  laborious  dulness  of  repeti- 
tion? 

Odoherty.  Pooh  !  they're  very  well  fitted  to  the  time.  Party  spirit 
is  very  cool  at  present,  and  you  would  not  have  the  party  caricatures 
to  be  very  pointed  when  that  is  the  case.  No,  no,  the  public  are 
taken  up  with  other  things,  North. 

North.  True,  Morgan  ;  and,  moreover,  the  great  circulation  lately 
of  exquisite  engravings  of  scenery  among  us  shows  decidedly  a  new 
and  more  polished  sort  of  taste  spreading  among  the  people.  Why, 
you  cannot  go  into  a  print-shop  now-a-days  without  seeing  a  whole 
swarm  of  new  works  coming  out  in  numbers,  any  one  leaf  of  which 
would  have  been  looked  on  as  a  real  wonder  some  dozen  or  ten  years 
back.  There's  Hugh  Williams's  Greek  Engravings,  now,  have  you 
seen  those  ? 

Odoherty.  To  be  sure  I  have  ;  i'faith  they  are  worthy  of  the  drawings 
themselves,  and  that  is  compliment  enough.  Gad  !  what  a  fine  thing 
we  should  have  thought  it,  when  we  were  young  lads  at  our  classics, 
to  be  able  to  get  such  divine  views  of  all  the  scenes  the  old  ones  said 
and  sung  about,  for  such  a  mere  trifle  of  money.  The  engraving  of 
the  Tombs  of  Platsea !    Well,  I  really  had  no  notion  that  the  eff"ect  of 

*  James  Gilray,  the  best  caricaturist  England  has  yet  produced — for  H.  B.  gave  actual 
rather  than  burlesque  portraits — died  in  1815. — M. 

t  Cruikshank's  sketches  of  Queen  Caroline  were  admirably  done.  They  represented  her  en 
bon  pointy  as  a  royal  lady  of  fifty  might  easily  be  ;  but  they  did  not  give  her  bold  glance,  nor 
her  imperious  frown,  nor  her  jolly  face.  Their  merit  consisted  in  what  they  did  not  indi- 
cate.— M. 


1824.]  GRECIAN   WILLIAMS.  4g9 

that  most  original  and  imdescribable  work  of  art  could  have  been  so 
nearly  given  in  black  and  white,  to  say  nothing  of  the  great  reduction 
of  scale. 

North.  There  are  many  others  of  the  series  not  a  whit  less  interest- 
ing. One,  of.  the  Temple  of  Jupiter  Panhellenius  in  ^gina,  particu- 
larly struck  me— and  Thebes !  faith,  I  believe,  that  is,  after  all,  the 
very  chef-d'oeuvre.  But,  perhaps,  you  don't  know,  Odoherty,  what  is 
one  of  my  chiefest  delights  when  I  look  over  this  work ;  and  that  is 
neither  more  nor  less  than  this,  sir,  that  Williams  has  had  all  his  en- 
gravings done  by  native  artists,  and  young,  very  young  ones  mostly. 
Sir,  these  things  may  show  themselves  by  the  side  of  the  very  best 
London  can  produce.  The  fortunes  of  Horsburg  and  Miller  ai'e 
made ;  for,  as  to  James  Stewart,  he,  you  know,  was  up  long  enough 
before  this  job.  His  engraving  of  Allan's  last  picture  is  a  grand 
thing.  I  never  saw  an  artist  who  showed  greater  tact  in  preserving 
the  minutiae  of  his  painter's  peculiar  touches. 

Odoherty.  Stewart  is  a  fine  handy  lad,  and  a  very  modest  one,  too. 
So  good  luck  to  him, — and  here's  a  bumper  to  Williams.* 

North.  Welshman  though  he  be,  he  is  an  honor  to  Scotia — here 
he  goes.     His  Views  of  Athens  will  live  as  long  as  her  memory. 

"  Shall  I  unmoved  behold  the  hallow'd  scene 
Which  others  rave  of,  though  they  know  it  not  ? 
Though  here  no  more  Apollo  haunt  his  grot, 
And  thou,  the  Muses'  seat,  art  now  their  grave — 
Some  gentle  spirit  still  pervades  the  spot, 
Sighs  in  the  gale,  keeps  silence  in  the  cave, 
And  glides  with  glassy  foot  o'er  yon  melodious  wave!" 

Odoherty.  Byron  ! — hum ! 

North.  Come,  come,  none  of  your  sneers.  Hugh  Williams's  prints 
are  certainly  the  best  illustrations  any  one  can  bind  up  with  Byron's 
poems.     Others  give  you  views,  caricatures,  (call  them  as  you  will,) 

*  Like  Sir  William  Allan,  Williams  had  lived  much  in  foreign  lands,  and  illustrated  foreign 
subjects  by  his  pencil.  After  travelling  in  Greece  and  Italy  for  some  years,  he  fixed  his  resi- 
dence in  Edinburgh,  in  1818.  Lockhart,  speaking  of  his  views  in  Greece,  saj'S,  "  It  is  there, — 
I  may  be  wrong  in  confessing  it,— it  is  there,  among  the  scattered  pillars  of  Thebes  or  Corinth 
— or  in  full  view  of  all  the  more  glorious  remains  of  more  glorious  Athens — or  looking  from 
the  ivied  or  mouldering  arches  of  Delphi,  quite  up  through  the  mountain  mists  to  the  craggy 
summits  of  Parnassus,  and  the  far-ofif  windings  of  the  Castalian  brook — it  is  there,  that  the 
footsteps  of  men  appear  to  have  stamped  a  grander  sanctity  even  on  the  most  magnificent 
forms  of  nature.  It  is  there  that  Williams  seems  first  to  have  felt,  and  it  is  in  his  transcripts 
of  these  glorious  scenes,  that  I  myself  have  been  sensible  of  feeling  the  whole  fulness  and 
awfulness  of  the  works  of  the  Creator — 

'All  this  magnificent  effect  of  power. 
The  earth  we  tread,  the  sky  which  we  behold 
By  day,  and  all  the  pomp  which  night  reveals.'  " 

A  view  of  Athens,  and  another  of  Castri,  were  greatly  praised  by  Lockhart,  in  1819,  who 
predicted,  what  was  speedily  accomplished,  that  Williams  would  take  a  high  place  as  a  land- 
Bcape  painter. — M. 


470  NOCTES   AMBKOSIAi^-^.  [Aug 

of  iiis  personages,  more  or  less  happy,  but  this  is  nothing.  Williame 
has  been,  like  the  poet,  inspired  by  the  sky,  the  mountains,  the  ruin? 
of  Greece,  and  the  kindred  stamp  of  their  inspiration  looks  you  in  the 
face  whichever  way  you  turn  among  their  works. 

Odoherty.  I  was  glad  to  see  the  prints  were  so  small,  for  this  wa? 
the  purpose  T  at  once  thought  of  turning  them  to. 

North.  Upon  the  same  principle  I  take  Thomson  of  Dudding- 
ston's  Fast  Castle  to  be  the  finest  and  most  satisfactory  accompani- 
ment for  the  story  of  Lammermoor — and  Kasmyth's  Old  Prison  of 
Edinburgh  stands  ditto,  ditto,  for  the  Heart  of  Mid-Lothian.* 

Odoherty.  I  wish  Williams  would  give  us  a  series  of  his  Italian 
things  too — and  particularly  his  Sicilian  ones — for  Agrigentum  and 
Syracuse  are,  after  all,  less  known  to  most  people  than  any  other  old 
places  of  any  thing  like  the  same  interesting  character. 

North.  People  may  rail  about  boyish  tastes,  and  what  not,  as  long- 
as  they  have  a  mind.  I  confess  I  like  a  book  all  the  better  for  its 
being  illustrated.  Perhaps  'tis  my  imagination  cooling.  Ensign ;  but 
there,  for  example,  was  Basil  Hall's  book  about  South  America :  I 
confess  I  would  fain  have  had  a  few  cuts  of  his  San  Martins,  O'Hig- 
ginses,  and  the  rest  of  them. 

Odoherty.  And  I  own  I  should  have  liked  to  see  what  sort  of  a 
figure  old  Cochrane  cuts  in  his  outlandish  riggery.  He  was  a  rum 
one  enough  in  that  long  blue  tog,  and  low-browed,  broad-brimmed 
castor,  as  we  used  to  see  him  lounging  about  town. 

North.  By  some  accident  I  never  saw  Lord  Cochrane  in  my  life. 
He  is  a  noble  fellow — mad,  of  course — but  that's  what  he  can't  help. 

Odoherty.  Was  it  madness  that  dished  him ! 

North.  Certainly,  the  only  thing  that  dished  him  was  the  denying 
of  the  hoax,  in  the  way  he  did,  in  the  House  of  Commons.  Had  he 
stood  firm  on  his  feet,  and  said  what  was  God's  truth,  that  he  was  a 
sailor,  and  not  a  moral  philosopher ;  and  that  if  he  had  acted  wrong, 
his  error  consisted  merely  in  doing  cleverly  and  successfully  what 
thousands  both  of  the  most  holy  saints  and  the  most  hororable  sin- 
ners in  the  land  were  trying  to  do  every  day ;  if  he  had  stood  up  with 
a  bold  face,  and  spoken  plain  common  sense  after  this  fashion,  I  should 
like  to  know  who  would  seriously  have  thought  a  pin  the  worse  of 
him,  at  least  for  more  than  a  week  or  two.f     Not  I,  for  one.     But  the 

'*  Alexander  Nasmyth,  in  1824,  was  the  venei'able  father  of  landscape  painting  in  Scotland. 
Lockhart  said,  "  There  is  a  delightful  sweetness  in  the  old  man's  pencil,  and  assuredly  there 
is  in  it  as  yet  no  want  of  vigor."  The  best  portrait  of  Robert  Burns  was  painted  by  Nasmyth. 
This  fine  old  man  died  in  1840,  aged  eighty-three.  His  son  Peter,  who  settled  in  London  at 
the  age  of  twenty,  and  had  won  the  honorable  title  of  "  The  English  Hobbima,"  died  in  1831. 
— M. 

t  Lord  Cochrane,  who  had  entered  the  British  Navy  at  an  early  age,  distinguished  himself 
by  his  exploits  in  the  war  with  France,  particularly  in  the  Basque  Roads,  for  which  he  was 
created  Knight  of  the  Bath,  was  very  popular  on  his  return  to  London,  and  was  elected 
member  for  Westminster.  In  February,  1814,  he  was  accused  of  being  concerned  in  a  Stock- 
Exchange  scheme,  intended  to  raise  the  funds  by  spreading  simultaneous  reports  of  Napoleon's 


1824.]  LOED    COCHKANE.  471 

truth  is,  that  every  one  thing  he  ever  did  in  this  country  after  he  be- 
gan to  think  himself  a  politician,  was  a  perfect  proof  of  madness. 

Odoherty.  Well,  'tis  lucky  he  has  got  into  a  walk,  where,  what  you 
are  pleased  to  call  madness,  does  better  than  all  the  wisdom  in  the 
world  would  do.     Will  he  ever  come  home  again,  think  ye  ? 

Worth.  I  don't  know.  Many  queer  stories  are  going  about.  Some 
say  he  has  done  things  about  the  English  shipping  that  would  land 
him  inextricably  in  lawsuits  if  he  showed  his  nose  here.  Others, 
again,  maintain  that  he  has  arranged  all  these  concerns  of  late,  and 
that  it  would  be  nothing  strange  if  he  should  be  seen  parading  Pali- 
Mall  within  this  twelvemonth.^  For  my  part,  I  know  nothing  of  the 
matter.     Captain  Hall  could  tell,  no  doubt. 

Odoherty.  Ay,  ay ;  but  Hall  was  a  great  deal  too  kno^ving  to  tell 
half  what  he  knew  about  some  of  those  folks  in  his  book. 

North.  To  be  sure  he  was ;  and,  in  particular,  I  have  heard  that 
his  MS.  Journal  could  furnish  a  very  extraordinary  bundle  of  Cochran- 
iana,  over  and  above  what  the  book  sets  forth.  Well,  we  can't  quar- 
rel with  this  reserve. 

Odoherty.  Bless  your  soul,  I  quarrel  with  nothing.  I  think  Hall's 
book  is  a  perfect  model  in  its  way.  Great  art  in  both  the  whole- 
speaking  part  of  it,  and  the  half-speaking. 

death.  He  was  indicted  for  complicity  herein,  in  June,  1814,  convicted,  sentenced  to  stand  in 
the  pillory,  opposite  the  Royal  Exchange,  for  an  hour,  to  be  imprisoned  for  twelve  months, 
and  to  pay  a  fine  of  £1000.  All  his  efforts  to  obtain  a  new  trial  were  in  vain.  On  July  5th,  a 
motion  for  his  expulsion  from  the  House  of  Commons  was  carried  by  a  (ministerial)  majority. 
On  the  16th,  he  was  re-elected.  The  indignity  of  putting  him  in  the  pillory  was  waived  by  the 
Government.  Soon  after,  he  was  solemnly  turned  out  of  the  Knightly  Order  of  the  Bath,  and 
deprived  of  his  rank  in  the  Navy.  After  having  been  some  time  in  prison,  he  escaped,  (on 
March  15,  1815,)  and  went  down  to  the  House  of  Commons,  to  take  his  seat  for  Westminster ; 
but  before  he  could  take  the  oaths,  was  re-captured  by  the  Marshal  of  the  prison.  On  the 
very  day  that  his  sentence  expired.  Lord  Cochrane  speeded  to  the  House,  and  was  just  in 
time  to  defeat,  by  his  single  vote,  an  intended  increase  of  £6000  a  year  to  the  Duke  of  Cum- 
berland, one  of  his  bitterest  opponents.  The  £1000  fine  was  paid  by  a  penny  subscription 
among  his  constituents.  He  left  Parliament  in  1818,  and  went  abroad  on  foreign  service,  first 
in  South  America,  and  afterwards  in  Greece.  In  1829,  he  permanently  fixed  his  abode  in 
London.  He  succeeded  to  the  Earldom  of  Dundonald,  and  William  IV.  (himself  a  sailor)  had 
him  restored  to  the  station  in  the  navy  which  he  would  have  occupied  had  he  remained  in  the 
service.  He  was  also  reinstated  in  his  position  as  Knight  of  the  Bath.  In  1814,  the  King  of 
Arms  had  proceeded  to  Henry  the  Seventh's  Chapel,  in  Westminster  Abbey,  removed  Lord 
Cochrane's  banner  and  other  insignia  from  his  stall,  kicked  them  down  the  chapel  steps,  and 
into  the  street.  A  popular  writer  says  :  Had  he  been  there  in  person,  the  remainder  of  the 
degradation  (hacking  off  his  knight's  spurs  by  a  butcher  with  a  cleaver)  would  most  probably 
have  been  performed — or  attempted.  Oddly  enough,  the  kicked-out  banner  was  picked  up,  in 
the  street,  by  one  of  Cochrane's  friends,  taken  home,  and  carefully  preserved.  This  was  about 
forty  years  ago-  Time  rolled  on — Cochrane  eminently  distinguished  himself  in  South  America 
and  Greece — he  had  returned  to  England — he  had  ))ecome  Earl  of  Dundonald,  by  the  death  of 
his  father — it  was  felt  that  he  had  been  harshly  dealt  with — the  political  asperities  which  pro- 
secuted and  persecuted  him  had  subsided — a  liberal  king  was  on  the  throne — a  liberal  govern- 
ment ruled  thecountry — and  tardy  justice  was  done,  by  restoring  Cochrane  to  the  honors  from 
which  he  had  been  degraded.  His  banner  was  duly  reinstated  in  its  old  place  in  Westminster 
Abbey,  and  it  actually  was  the  identical  banneret  which,  two-and  twenty  years  ago,  had  been 
unceremoniously  kicked  out.  Cochrane's  friend  who  had  picked  it  up,  evidently  acted  on  the 
old  saw  which  says,  "  Keep  a  thing  for  seven  jears,  and  it  will  be  sure  to  come  fn  useful."  He 
kept  the  document  for  treble  that  period,  but  was  rewarded. — In  1854,  when  a  commander 
was  required  for  the  British  fleet  in  the  Baltic,  the  Earl  of  Dundonald  (Cochrane)  solicited  to 
be  employed,  but  his  seventy-nine'  years  (he  was  born  in  1775)  were  so  many  reasons  against 
it.— M. 
'•'  He  did  return,  four  years  after  this  date. — M. 


472  NOCTES   AMBEOSIAKiE.  [AuG. 

JSforth.  The  Edinburgh  Reviewer  of  Basil,  whether  he  was  Sir 
Jamie  or  not,*  devil  cares,  made  a  grand  attempt  to  persuade  the 
world  that  the  weight  of  the  Captain's  authoiity  lay  entirely  his  own 
way  as  to  the  question  of  revolutions  in  South  America,  and,  by  im- 
plication, elsewhere ;  but  as  you  have  seen  the  work,  I  need  not  tell 
you  this  is  just  another  trick  of  the  old  trade. 

Odoherty.  And  what  else  should  it  be  ?  He,  of  course,  gave  no 
opinion  about  any  other  revolution  question  except  that  on  which  all 
the  world  has  all  along  been  exactly  of  the  same  way  of  thinking. 
I  mean  the  total  impossibility  and  absurdity  of  every  scheme  for  re- 
establishing the  government  of  Spain  over  her  great  American  colo- 
nies. 

North.  Exactly  so — he  speaks  decidedly,  as  he  should  do,  upon  this 
head,  and  as  to  all  the  details  of  the  different  humbug  constitutions 
that  have  been  knocked  up  and  down  Hke  so  many  nine-pins  in  that 
quarter  during  the  last  ten  or  twelve  years,  he  says,  in  spite  of  Sir 
Jamie, — he  says  not  one  word  but  what  is  perfectly  consistent  with  the 
truth  and  justice  of  the  views  which  I  have  recently  been  putting 
forth  as  to  those  concerns.  He,  in  fact,  hints  continually  his  total  con- 
tempt for  every  thing  connected  with  these  new  establishments,  except 
only  the  individual  merits  (such  he  esteems  them)  of  San  Martin  in 
Chili  and  Iturbidef  in  Mexico.  The  wild  and  cruel  ruin  which,  with 
scarcely  one  exception,  the  insurgent  party  has  everywhere  heaped  on 
the  private  and  domestic  fortunes  of  those  opposed  to  them,  or  sus- 
pected of  being  opposed  to  them  in  opinion, — the  brutal  sulky  rage 
with  which  every  thing  venerable  for  rank,  station,  refinement,  and 
virtue,  has,  in  a  thousand  instances,  been  sacrificed  to  the  mean  and 
jealous  demon  of  Liberalism, — the  outrages  on  age,  elegance,  loveli- 
ness,— the  rash,  remorseless  villany  which  has  trampled  all  that  has 
ennobled  the  soil  into  the  dust  of  degradation,  nay,  of  absolute  misery, 
— of  all  this,  sir.  Captain  Hall,  being  a  Scottish  gentleman  and  a 
British  ofiicer,  could  not  possibly  think  a  whit  differently  from  all  the 
others  of  the  same  class  of  men  I  have  ever  happened  to  converse  with 
on  any  of  the  topics  in  question,  nor  has  he  said  one  syllable  that  looks 
as  if  he  had  done  so ;  though  I  have  no  sort  of  doubt  the  critique  in 
the  Edinburgh  Review,  and  Sir  James's  puff"  parliamentary,  were  both 
of  them  dictated  in  some  measure  by  a  skulking  sort  of  notion  that 
the  hrutum  vulgus  might  be  bamboozled  into  the  belief  that  Captain 
Hall  had  really  written  a  Whiggish  book  touching  South  America. 

*  "  Sir  Jamie"  was  Sir  James  Mackintosh,  of  course.  Basil  Hall's  book  was  his  "  Extracts 
from  a  Journal  written  on  the  Coasts  of  Chili,  Peru,  and  Mexico,  in  the  years  1820,  1821,  and 
1822."— M. 

t  Augustus  Iturbide,  who  was  Emperor  of  Mexico  for  a  short  period,  (proclaimed  May  18th, 
1822,  and  abdicating  in  .March,  1823,)  retired  to  Italy  on  a  large  pension,  conditional  on  his 
not  returning  to  Mexico.  He  returned,  after  a  year's  absence,  to  attempt  the  recovery  of 
power,  was  proscribed,  betrayed,  captured,  and  sentenced  to  death.  He  was  shot,  July  19th, 
1822,  aged  forty.— M. 


1824.]  BASIL   HALL.  4^3 

Odoherty.  Does  Sir  James  owe  Constable  any  money  ? 

North.  Not  knowing,  can't  say. 

Odoherty.  Well,  well.  The  Captain  should  certainly  have  given  us 
a  few  prints  of  his  heroes.  He  had  some  grand  affairs  in  his  Loo-choo 
book. 

North.  Ay,  and  so  he  had.  By  the  by,  have  you  heard  that  it 
turns  out  that  he  was  completely  taken  in  by  those  petticoated  prigs  ? 
That  his  primitive  Loo-choo  lads  are  now  understood  to  be,  without 
exception,  the  prettiest  set  of  old  rascally  cunning  swindlers  that  ever 
infested  the  Yellow  Sea  ? 

Odoherty.  I  had  not  heard  of  the  humbug  being  ripped  up.  Well, 
I  am  sorry  to  hear  this,  for  I  really  had  been  much  affected  with  the 
simplicity  of  their  manners.*  The  print  of  the  leave-taking,  in  parti- 
cular, was  rather  too  much  for  my  feelings — them  booing  and  Basil 
booing — them  doing  him,  and  him  Loo-chooing  them.  Twas  a  fine 
picture  of  humanity  on  the  umbrella  system. 

North.  Ay,  ay.  Well,  he  has  got  hold  of  people  whom  he  could 
understand  this  time,  and  he  has  done  himself  justice.  His  book,  sir, 
is,  after  all,  one  of  the  few  sprigs  of  1824,  which  won't  wither  with 
the  season.  I  back  Captain  Hall's  South  America,  and  Captain  Rock 
Detected,  against  any  three  octavos,  or  duodecimos  either,  of  the 
growth. 

Odoherty.  Have  you  seen  a  Tour  in  Germany  lately  published  by 
Constable's  people  ?     I  hear  'tis  rather  a  clever  thing. 

North.  I  was  reading  some  parts  of  it  over  again  this  very  evening. 
I  like  the  book  very  well  upon  the  whole.     Who  writes  it  ? 

Odoherty.  A  Mr.  Russell,  I  hear  ;  a  young  man  who  has  just  been 
called  to  the  bar  here. 

North.  I  hoped  it  might  turn  out  to  be  a  very  young  man,  for  other- 
wise there  would  be  something  offensive  in  the  style  occasionally. 
Cursedly  spruce  and  pointed — you  understand  me. 

Odoherty.  O  ay ;  but  I  hear  this  is  a  genuine  clever  fellow,  so  one 
must  overlook  these  little  things,  and  expect  better  hereafter. 

North.  Why,  as  to  that,  I  made  no  objection  to  any  thing,  but  a 
little  occasional  false  taste  in  style — a  thing  which,  in  an  early  work 
like  this,  is  of  no  sort  of  consequence.  The  stuff"  of  his  book  is  good, 
and  his  feelings  are  good  throughout.  We  must  get  Kempferhausen 
to  bring  him  here  some  night — for  being  a  German — Nihil  Germanici 
a  se  alienum — you  understand  me  ? 

Odoherty.  Yes,  yes,  of  course,  the  lad  has  laid  his  lugs  in  our  friend's 
Steinwein  long  ere  this  time  of  day.     Well,  the  Germanic  faction  is 

*  When  Captain  Basil  Hall  visited  Napoleon  at  St.  Helena,  on  his  return  from  a  voyage  of 
discovery,  in  which  he  had  visited  the  Loo-Choo  Islands,  he  mentioned  that  the  people  had  no 
offensive  weapons,  "il/o/i  Dieu  .'"  said  the  Emperor,  "  how  do  they  fight?"  When  he  after- 
wards spoke,  in  presence  of  Mr.  Vansittart,  then  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer,  of  their  having 
no  money,  the  financier  abruptly  asked,  "  How  can  they  pay  the  taxes  ?" — M. 


474  NOCTES   AMBROSIAN^.  [Aug. 

getting  on ;  this  gentleman  and  young  Carlyle* — lie  who  translated 
Meister — are  two  pretty  additions  to  Kempferhausen's  battalion.  To 
be  serious,  North,  we  shall  run  some  risk  of  inundation.  Have  you 
seen  the  last  London  Magazine,  how  bitter  they  are  on  the  poor  Wil- 
liam Meister  ? 

North.  Not  I,  i'faith — I  see  none  of  these  concerns — not  I.  What 
are  they  saying  ? 

Odoherty.  Oh  !  abusing  the  Germans  up-hill  and  down-dale,  buzzing 
like  fiery  myriads  of  sand  flies. 

North.  And  stinging  ? 

Odoherty.  Not  knowing,  can't  say.    . 

North.  Well,  I  should  have  thought  my  friend  Opium  would  have 
kept  them  from  this  particular  piece  of  nonsense — but  that's  true  too, 
the  whole  may  be  one  of  his  quizzes.  He  was  always  fond  of  a  prac- 
tical joke,  hang  him. 

Odoherty.  He  says  old  Goethe  is  an  idiot — this  is  pretty  abuse, 
surely. 

North.  Ay,  ay,  about  abuse  as  well  as  other  things,  'tis  a  true 
saving  enough  that  most  people  consider  it  as  "  no  loss,  that  a  friend 
gets." 

Odoherty.  You  would  disapprove,  I  suppose,  of  the  attack  on  De 
Quincey  in  the  John  Bull  Magazine  ?f 

North.  Disapprove  ! — I  utterly  despised  it,  and  so,  no  doubt,  did  he. 
They  say  he  is  no  scholar,  because  he  has  never  published  any  verbal 
criticisms  on  any  Greek  authors;];-^ — what  stuff!  then,  I  take  it,  the  best 

*  In  1824  Thomas  Carlyle  was  a  young  man,  and  if  not  a  better,  by  all  means  a  more  intel- 
ligible writer  than  he  has  been  for  the  last  fifteen  years.  At  one  time,  Carljie  could  and  did 
write  plain  English — how  beautiful,  in  its  Saxon  simplicity,  is  his  Life  of  Schiller  ! — but  he  has 
Germanized  and  spoiled  his  style,  until  it  almost  requires  a  glossary  to  tm-n  it  into  English. 
— M. 

t  In  Blackwood,  for  July,  1824,  was  a  poetical  epistle,  by  the  renowned  "  Timothy  Tickler," 
to  the  Editor  of  the  John  Bull  Magazine,  on  an  article  in  his  first  number.  This  article  (not 
named  by  INIaga,  though  sufficiently  indicated)  professed  to  be  a  portion  of  the  veritable  Auto- 
biography of  Byron,  which  was  burnt,  and  was  called  "  My  Wedding  Night."  It  appeared  to 
relate,  in  detail,  etery  thing  that  occurred  in  the  twenty-four  hours  immediately  succeeding 
that  in  which  Byron  was  married.  It  had  plenty  of  coarseness,  and  some  to  spare  ;  it  went 
into  particulars  such  as  hitherto  had  been  given  only  by  Faublas  ;  and  it  had,  notwithstand- 
ing, many  phrases  and  some  facts  which  evidently  did  not  belong  to  a  mere  fabricator.  Some 
years  after,  I  compared  this  "  Wedding  Night "  with  what  I  had  all  assurance  of  having  been 
transcribed  from  the  actual  MSS.  of  Byron,  and  was  persuaded  that  the  magazine  writer  must 
have  had  the  actual  statement  before  him,  or  have  had  a  perusal  of  it.  The  writer  in  Black- 
wood declared  his  conviction  that  it  really  was  Byron's  own  writing,  and  said — 

"JBut  that  you,  sir, — a  wit,  and  a  scholar  like  you, 
Should  not  blush  to  produce  what  he  blushed  not  to  do — 
Take  your  compliment,  youngster — this  doubles  (almost) 
The  sorrow  that  rose  when  his  honor  was  lost." 

Why  the  John  Bull  Magazine  should  have  been  patted  on  the  back  by  Maga,  can  only  be 
accounted  for  by  the  belief  that  Maginn  was  chief  writer  in  it — as  he  was,  at  the  same  time,  in 
Blackwood.  Murray  is  said  to  have  declared  that  "  My  Wedding  Night"  could  only  have 
been  supplied  by  Maginn.  The  John  Bull  Magazine  was  dropped  after  the  sixth  or  seventh 
number. — ^TNI. 

X  In  De  Quincey's  Literary  Reminiscences  (Boston  edition.  Vol.  II.)  is  a  chapter  of  44  pages, 
called  "  Libellous  Attack  by  a  London  Journal,"  which  is  a  specimen  of  word-spinning  and 
sentence-making,  "  full  of  sound  and  fury,  but  signifying  nothing  "    De  Quincey  had  been 


1824.]  DE.    PAER.  475 

scholars  in  the  world  are  such  creatures  as  Dr.  Parr — rubbish  that  I 
honestly  confess,  I  never  used  to  think  any  sensible  man  would  conde- 
scend to  class  much  higher  than  a  Petralogist  or  a - 

Odoherty.  I'll  defy  you  to  fill  up  that  sentence — go  on. 

North.  Parr  indeed  !  Persuade  me  that  that  goggling  ass  knows 
any  thing  about  the  true  spirit  of  Athenian  antiquiiy !  That  egre- 
gious consumer  of  shag,  a  fit  person  to  analyze  the  soul  of  Sappho  ! — 
that  turnip-headed  buffoon  in  a  cassock,  able  to  follow  the  wit  of  Aris- 
tophanes ! — no,  no,  sir — no  tricks  upon  travellers.  What  has  he  done  ? 
What  has  he  done  ?     That  is  the  question. 

Odoherty.  Why,  all  the  world  knows  what  he  has  done- — he  has 
drunk  a  great  deal  of  bad  beer,  smoked  a  great  deal  of  bad  tobacco, 
uttered  a  great  deal  of  bad  jokes,  and  published,  thank  Heaven  !  not 
a  great  deal  of  dull  prose,  out-caricaturing  the  pomposity  of  Dr.  John- 
son's first  and  worst  style,  accompanied  with  some  score  or  two  of 
notes  in  English,  and  Notuloe  in  Latin,  of  which  it  is  entirely  impos- 
sible for  any  human  creature  to  decide  which  is  the  most  contempt- 
ible— their  strutting  boldness  of  language,  their  blown-up  inanity  of 
thought,  or  the  vile  self-satisfied  grin  of  their  abominable  psedogical 
republicanism — a  disgusting  old  fellow,  sir  ! 

North.   Old  I     Is  that  an  epithet  of  contempt,  Mr.  Ensign  ? 

Odoherty.  Beg  pardon — a  disgusting  fellow 

North.  Thou  hast  said  it.  An  excellent  clergyman  in  his  parish, 
an  excellent  schoolmaster  in  his  school,  but  in  his  character  of  a  wit 
and  an  author,  one  of  the  most  genuine  feather-beds  of  humbug  that 
ever  filled  up  a  corner  in  the  world — all  which,  however,  is  no  matter 
of  ours — wherefore  pass  we  on.  I  would  not  have  thought  it  worth 
while  to  name  his  name,  even  to  you,  had  it  not  been  that  I  lately  re- 
marked sundry  attempts  to  bolster  up  his  justly  battered  reputation, 
not  in  the  writings  of  any  of  his  own  filthy  party,  for  that  would  have 
been  quite  right,  but  in  one  of  D'Israeli's  recent  works — which  of 
them  I  at  this  moment  forget- — so  help  me,  my  memory,  Morgan,  even 
my  memory  begins  to 

Odoherty.  Stutf^ — stuff — stuff ! !  What's  the  use  of  what  they  call 
a  good  memory  ? 

North.  You  will  perhaps  think  more  of  that,  young  gentleman, 
when  your  hairs,  like  mine 

dished  up  in  the  John  Bull  Magasine  as  one  of  the  "  Humbugs  of  the  Age,"  and  the  article 
had  been  republished  in  a  newspaper  in  the  pi-ovincial  locality  where  his  family  were  then 
residing,  he  being  in  London,  honorably  using  his  pen  for  their  and  his  own  subsistence.  The 
chapter  treats  oi  nearly  every  topic  except  that  which  gave  it  a  title — of  Romish  casuistry — 
of  Wordsworth's  iu,,igery— of  Paley's  Moral  Philosophy— of  duelling— of  the  pain  of  being 
libelled— of  courts  of  honor— of  pugilistic  contests— of  the  Duke  of  Wellington— of  other  mat- 
ters. But  it  never  mentioned  tohut  the."  libellous  attack"  was,  nor  did  he  once  name  the  jour- 
nal which  made  it.  All  we  learn  is  that  he  was  attacked  in  some  publication,  of  which  he 
bought  a  copy  in  Smithfield.  This  is  so  thoroughly  De  Quinceyish,  (like  Mrs.  Nickleby  bring- 
ing in  persons  and  things  quite  independent  of  the  matter  on  the  tapis,)  that  of  course  I  can- 
not complain  of  his  thus  writing  "  an  infinite  deal  of  nothing."— M. 


476  NOCTES   AMBROSIAN^.  [Aug. 

Odoherty.  Pooh  !  pooh  !  I've  worn  falsities  these  five  years.  But 
what  signifies  your  grand  memory?  Things  really  of  importance  to 
any  man's  concerns,  are  by  that  man  remembered — other  things  are 
of  no  consequence.  I,  for  my  part,  find  it  is  always  much  less  trou- 
ble to  fill  up  the  details  of  any  piece  of  business  from  the  creation  of 
taucy,  than  by  cudgelling  one's  brains  for  the  minutiae  of  fact — in  fact, 
sir,  I  despise  fact. 

North.  Aha !  my  lad,  very  pretty  talking  all  this  !  But,  as  Cole- 
ridge says  in  his  Friend,  we  always  think  the  least  about  what  we 
feel  the  most.  In  the  heroic  ages,  they  had  not  so  many  words  as 
we  have  now  for  expressing  the  different  shades  and  shapes  of  per- 
sonal beauty  or  personal  valor;  there  was  less  talk  about  chivalry 
among  the  Coeur-de-Lions  than  among  a  pack  of  dandy  hussars  ; — and 
from  what  lips  does  one  hear  so  niuch  about  honor  as  a  puppy 
Whig's  ? — But  I'm  weary  of  talking  to  you,  Ensign.  Here,  draw 
another  cork.  I  desired  our  friend,  the  Ambrosian,  to  have  him 
touched  with  the  ice — just  touched.  Ay,  that's  your  sort.  What  a 
satisfactory  thing  this  is  now  ! 

Odoherty.  Sam,  I  suppose* — ay,  I  thought  so  from  the  twist  of 
your  lips. 

North.  Now,  take  your  pen  in  your  hand  like  a  good  diligent  lad, 
and  touch  me  off  a  neat  handy  little  article  on  this  same  Tour  in 
Germany. 

Odoherty.  Me  !     Bless  you,  I  have  not  read  one  word  of  it. 
North.   Never  heed — begin    with    a    sounding  paragraph    about 
things  in  general ;  at  the  close  of  each  paragraph  you  shall  have  a 
bumper.     Yea,  stick  we  to  the  old  bargain. 

Odoherty.  Pretty  little  pebbles  of  paragraphs  we  shall  be  having ; 
well,  here  goes !  But  to  save  time  and  trouble,  tell  me,  since  you 
have  read  the  book,  what  you  really  think  of  it — honestly,  now,  Kit. 
North.  Well,  well — fill  my  glass  again,  boy.  'Tis  an  excellent  little 
book,  I  assure  you.  Sir  Morgan.  The  author  appears  to  have  spent 
some  time  at  Jena,  and  after  making  himself  well  acquainted  with  the 
language,  to  have  travelled  considerably  over  the  north  of  Germany, 
and  a  little  in  the  south  also.  He  has  given,  in  what  will  probably 
be  the  most  amusing  part  of  his  book  to  common  readers,  a  very 
graphic  account  indeed  of  the  mode  of  life  prevalent  among  that  ap- 
parently queerest  of  all  queer  orders  of  beings,  the  German  students. 
He  has  entered  into  full  and,  ex  facie^  accurate  details  of  their  extra- 
vagant, enthusiastic,  absurd,  overbearing,  hobbletehoy  existence,  their 
pride,  their  folly,  their  clubs,  their  duels,  their  whiskers,  their  tobacco- 
pipes,  their  schnaps,  their  shirt-collars,  and  their  enormous  jack-boots. 
All  other  bodies  of  students  that  I  have  seen  or  heard  of,  would  ap- 

*  Mr.  Samuel  Anderson,  then  a  wine-merchant  in  Edinburgh,  afterwards,  by  favor  of  Lord 
Brougham,  Registrar  of  the  Court  of  Chancery  in  London. — M. 


1824.]  PRUSSIA  IN  1820-3.  477 

pear  to  be  but  milk-and-water  shadows  of  their  academical  absurdity 
— and  yet,  strange  to  say,  it  appears  to  be  by  no  means  clear,  that  a 
German  university  is  not  at  this  moment  the  place  where  the  most 
extensive  and  the  most  accurate  learning  may  be  acquired  at  the 
cheapest  rate.  Sir,  this  affair  seems  to  be  made  up  of  one  bundle  of 
anomalies.  You  must,  on  reflection,  read  the  whole  of  the  chapters 
he  has  devoted  to  its  consideration,  ere  you  review  them. 

Odoherty,  If  their  way  of  thinking  be  either  more  queer  or  more 
laudable  than  what  we  had  to  do  with  at  old  Trin.  Coll.  Dub.,  I  shall 
consider  myself  as  a  rump  and  dozen  in  my  victim's  debt. 

North.  As  to  that,  not  knowing,  can't  say.  But  the  really  impor- 
tant part  of  the  book  is  its  politics,  and  it  was  this  that  made  me  wish 
you  should  do  something  for  it  in  Maga.  Sir,  we  have  been  much 
abused  by  the  people  who  have  written  and  spoken  about  Germany 
for  the  last  five  or  six  years. 

Odoherty.  As  how  ? 

North.  Why,  for  example,  we  have  been  deaved  with  the  hoarse 
cry,  that  the  King  of  Prussia  has  behaved  in  all  manner  of  beastly 
ways  to  his  people.  We  have  been  told  that  he  has  promised  to  do 
every  thing  for  them,  and  that  he  has  done  nothing  :  and  this  sort  of 
thing  has  been  repeated  so  often  by  all  the  regiment  of  bawlers,  from 
Brougham  the  Bold  downwards,  that  honest  people  have  really  been 
dinned  into  some  sort  of  belief,  that  the  thing  must  be  so.  But  here 
we  have  the  facts — Sir  Morgan  Odoherty,  here  we  have  the  plain  facts 
of  the  case  ;  and  I  assure  you,  I  think  the  author  of  this  book  would 
have  deserved  no  slight  commendation  had  his  work  consisted  merely 
of  this  one  excellent  expose.  He  has  shown,  sir,  in  the  most  com- 
plete and  satisfactory  manner,  that  in  so  far'  as  it  has  been  possible  for 
the  government  of  Prussia  to  increase  the  political  privileges  of  the 
people  of  Prussia,  the  thing  actually  has  been  done.*  The  king  and 
his  ministers  have  reformed  to  a  very  great  extent — but  they  have 
reformed  like  men  of  sense,  wisdom  and  experience — not  after  the 
fashion  of  your  Bolivars,  your  Riegos,  your  Robespierres,  your  Pepes, 
your  Thistlewoods.     Here  is  the  rub. 

Odoherty.  A  real  defence  of  the  Prussian  government  must  be  of 
high  importance  at  present.     Whereabouts  is  this  subject  taken  up  ? 

North.  Give  me  the  book — ay,  here  it  is.  I  shall  be  happy  to  hear 
it  once  again ;  so  read  aloud — begin  where  you  see  the  mark  of  my 
pencil. 

Odoherty.  Well,  if  it  must  be  so — "  The  Prussian  government  is 
usually  decried" 

*  This  was  Frederick- William  III.,  father  of  the  present  King.  The  convulsions  which 
shook  the  Prussian  throne  to  its  foundations,  in  1848,  may  in  some  small  degree  be  traced  to 
his  refusal  to  grant  those  constitutional  privileges  which  had  long  been  promised  to  his  people, 
and  which  they  were  well  fitted  to  exercise. — M. 


'17S  NOCTES   AMBROSIAN^.  [Aug. 

North.  That's  the  passage  I  mean. 
Odoherty.  And  a  pretty  long  one  it  seems  to  be. 
North.  No  matter ;  I  assure  you,  you  will  find  Mr.  Russell's  prose 
much  more  entertaining  than  my  prosing.     Get  on. 
Odoherty  (reads).^ 

"  The  Prussian  government  is  usually  decried  amongst  us,  as  one  of  the  most 
intolerant  and  illiberal  of  Germany,  attentive  only  to  secure  the  implicit  and  un- 
thinking obedience  of  its  subjects,  and  therefore  encouraging  every  thing  which 
may  retain  them  in  ignorance  and  degradation.  Every  Briton,  from  what  he 
has  heard,  nnist  enter  Prussia  with  this  feeling;  and  he  must  blush  for  his 
hastiness,  when  he  runs  over  the  long  line  of  bold  reforms,  and  liberal  amelio- 
rations, which  were  introduced  into  the  whole  frame  of  society  and  public 
relations  in  Prussia,  from  the  time  when  the  late  Chancellor  Prince  Hardenberg 
was  replaced,  in  1810,  at  the  head  of  the  government.  They  began,  in  fact, 
with  the  battle  of  Jena;  that  defeat  was,  in  one  sense,  the  salvation  of  Prussia. 
The  degradation  and  helplessness  into  which  it  plunged  the  monarchy,  while 
they  roused  all  thinking  men  to  see  that  there  must  be  something  wrong  in 
existing  relations,  brought  likewise  the  necessity  of  stupendous  efforts  to  make 
the  resoui'ces  of  the  diminished  kingdom  meet  both  its  own  expenditure,  and 
the  contributions  levied  on  it  by  the  conqueror.  A  minister  was  wanted;  for 
dimineering  France  would  not  allow  Hardenberg,  the  head  of  the  Anti-Galliean 
party,  and  listened  to  only  when  it  was  too  late  to  retain  his  office,  and  he 
retired  to  Riga.  Prenez  Monsieur  Stein,  said  ]N"apoleon  to  the  king,  cest  un 
honvifie  d'' esprit ;  and  Stein  was  made  minister.  In  spirit,  he  was  a  minister 
entirely  suited  to  the  times;  but  he  wanted  caution,  and  forgot  that  in  politics, 
even  in  changing  for  the  better,  some  consideration  must  be  paid  to  what  for 
centuries  has  been  bad  and  universal.  He  was  not  merely  bold,  he  was  fear- 
less; but  he  was  thoroughly  despotic  in  his  character;  having  a  good  object 
once  in  his  eye,  he  rushed  on  to  it,  regardless  of  the  mischief  which  he  might 
be  doing  in  his  haste,  and  tearing  up  and  throwing  down  all  that  stood  in  his 
way,  with  a  vehemence  which  even  the  utility  of  his  purpose  did  not  always 
justify. 

"Stein  was  too  honest  a  man  long  to  retain  the  favor  of  France.  An  inter- 
cepted letter  informed  the  cabinet  of  St.  Cloud,  that  he  was  governing  for 
Prussian,  not  for  French  purposes;  and  the  king  was  requested  to  dismiss  le 
nomme  Stein.  He  retired  to  Prague,  and  amused  himself  with  reading  lectures 
on  history  to  his  daughters.  His  retirement  was  followed  by  a  sort  of  inter- 
regnum of  ministers,  who  could  contrive  nothing  except  the  cession  of  Silesia 
to  France,  instead  of  paying  the  contributions.  From  necessity,  Hardenbei'g 
was  recalled  ;  and  whoever  will  take  the  trouble  of  going  over  the  principal 
acts  of  his  administration  will  acknowledge,  not  only  that  he  was  the  ablest 
minister  Prussia  has  ever  possessed,  but  likewise  that  few  statesmen,  in  the 
unostentatious  path  of  internal  improvement,  have  effected  in  so  brief  an  inter- 
val, so  many  weighty  and  beneficial  changes — interrupted  as  he  was  by  a  war 
of  unexampled  importance,  which  he  began  with  caution,  prosecuted  with 
energy,  and  terminated  in  triumph.  He  received  Prussia  stripped  of  half  its 
extent,  its  honors  blighted,  its  finances  ruined,  its  resources  at  once  exhausted 
by  foreign  contributions,  and  depressed  by  ancient  relations  among  the  different 
classes  of  society,  which  custom  had  consecrated,  and  selfishness  was  vehement 
to  defend.     He  has  left  it  to  his  king,  enlarged  in  extent,  and  restored  to  its 

*  See  Tour  in  Germany,  in  1820,  1821,  1822,  (Edinburgh,  Constable,  2  vols.  12too.,)  volume 
second,  p.  110,  et  seq.—G.  N. 


1824.]  PRUSSIA    UNDEK    HAEDENBEEG.  479 

fame ;  with  a  well-ordered  sj^stem  of  finance,  not  more  defective  or  extravagant 
tban  the  strviggle  for  the  redemption  of  the  kingdoiri  rendered  necessary;  and, 
above  all,  he  has  left  it  freed  from  those  restraints  which  bound  up  the  capaci- 
ties of  its  industry,  and  were  the  sources  at  once  of  personal  degi'adation  and 
national  poverty.  Nor  ought  it  to  be  forgotten,  that,  while  Hardenberg  had 
often  to  contend,  in  the  course  of  these  reforms,  now  with  the  jealousies  of 
town  corporations,  and  now  with  the  united  influence  and  prejudices  of  the 
aristocracy,  he  stood  in  the  difficult  station  of  a  foreigner  in  the  kingdom 
which  he  governed,  unsupported  by  family  descent  or  hereditary  influence. 
His  power  rested  on  the  personal  confidence  of  the  king  in  his  talents  and 
honesty,  and  the  confidence  which  all  of  the  people  who  ever  thought  on  such 
matters  reposed  in  the  general  spirit  of  his  policy. 

"  It  was  on  agriculture  that  Prussia  had  chiefly  to  rely,  and  the  relations 
between  the  peasantiy  v/ho  labored  the  soil  and  the  proprietors,  chiefly  of  the 
nobility,  who  owned  it,  were  of  a  most  depressing  nature.  The  most  venturous 
of  all  Hardenberg's  measures  was  that  by  which  he  entirely  new -modelled  tha 
system,  and  did  nothing  less  than  create  a  new  order  of  independent  landed 
proprietors.  The  Erbunterth'dnigkeit,  or  hereditary  subjection  of  the  peasantry 
to  the  proprietors  of  the  estates  on  which  they  were  born,  had  been  already 
abolished  by  Stein  :  next  were  removed  the  absurd  restrictions  which  had  so 
long  operated,  with  accumulating  force,  to  diminish  the  productiveness  of  land, 
by  fettering  the  proprietor  not  merely  in  the  disposal,  but  even  in  the  mode  of 
cultivating  his  estate.  Then  came  forth,  in  1810,  a  royal  edict,  eff"ecting,  by  a 
single  stroke  of  the  pen,  a  greater  and  more  decisive  change  than  has  resulted 
from  any  modern  legislative  act,  and  one  which  a  more  popular  form  of  govern- 
ment would  scarcely  have  ventured.  It  enacted,  that  all  the  peasantry  of  the 
kingdom  should  in  future  be  free,  hereditary  pi'oprietors  of  the  lands  which 
hitherto  they  had  held  only  as  hereditary  tenants,  on  condition  that  they  gave 
up  to  the  landlord  a  fixed  proportion  of  them.  The  peasantry  formed  two 
classes.  The  first  consisted  of  those  who  enjoyed  what  may  be  termed  a  hered- 
itary lease,  that  is,  who  held  lands  to  which  the  landlord  was  bound,  on  the 
death  of  the  tenant  in  possession,  to  admit  his  successor,  or,  at  least,  some  near 
relation.  The  right  of  the  landlord  was  thus  greatly  inferior  to  that  of  un- 
limited property;  he  had  not  his  choice  of  a  tenant;  the  lease  was  likely  to 
remain  in  the  same  family  as  long  as  the  estate  in  his  own ;  and,  in  general,  he 
had  not  the  power  of  increasing  the  rent,  which  had  been  originally  fixed, 
centuries,  perhaps,  before,  whether  it  consisted  in  pi'oduce  or  services.  These 
peasants,  on  giving  up  one-third  of  their  farms  to  the  landlord,  became  un- 
.  limited  proprietors  of  the  remainder.  The  second  class  consisted  of  peasants! 
whose  title  endured  only  for  life,  or  a  fixed  term  of  years.  In  this  case,  the 
landlord  was  not  bound  to  continue  the  lease,  on  its  termination,  to  the  former 
tenant,  or  any  of  his  descendants ;  but  still  he  was  far  from  being  unlimited 
proprietor;  he  was  bound  to  replace  the  former  tenant  with  a  person  of  tne 
same  rank;  he  was  prohibited  to  take  the  lands  into  his  own  possession,  or 
cultivate  them  with  his  own  capital.*  His  right,  however,  was  clearly  more 
absolute  than  in  the  former  case,  and  it  is  difficult  to  see  what  claim  the  tenant 
could  set  up  bej'ond  the  endurance  of  his  lease.    That  such  restrictions  rendered 

*  This  regulation  has  sometimes  been  ascribed  to  anxiety  to  Iceep  up  the  numbers  of  the 
peasantry  to  fill  the  armies  ;  a  more  probable  explanation  is  to  be  found  in  the  exemption  of 
the  nobility,  that  is,  generally  speaking,  the  landholders,  from  taxation.  They  established 
this  exemption  in  favor  of  the  property  which  they  retained  in  their  own  hands,  by  abandon- 
ing to  taxation  the  lands  which  they  had  given  out  to  tlie  peasantry  Bauernhofe.  It  thus  be- 
came the  interest  of  the  Crown  to  prevent  any  diminution  of  the  Bauernhofe,  the  only  taxablo 
land  in  the  country.  To  abolish  this  restriction,  was  one  of  Stein's  first  measures,  in  1808; 
for  he  was  determined  to  make  all  laud  taxable,  without  exception. — R. 


480  NOCTES   AMBEOSIAN^.  [AuG. 

the  estate  less  valuable  to  the  proprietor,  may  have  been  a  very  good  reason 
for  abolishing  them  entirely,  but  seems  to  be  no  reason  at  all  for  taking  a  por- 
tion of  the  lands  from  him  wiio  had  every  right  to  them,  to  give  it  to  him 
who  liad  no  right  whatever,  but  that  of  possession  under  his  temporary  lease. 
But  this  class  of  peasants,  too,  (and  they  are  supposed  to  have  been  by  far  the 
more  numerous,)  on  giving  up  one-half  of  their  farms,  became  absolute  pro- 
prietors of  the  remainder.  The  half  thus  taken  from  the  landlords  appears 
just  to  have  been  a  price  exacted  from  them  for  the  more  valuable  enjoyment 
of  the  other; — as  if  the  government  had  said  to  them,  give  up  to  our  disposal 
a  certain  portion  of  your  estates,  and  we  shall  so  sweep  away  those  old  restric- 
tions whicli  render  them  unproductive  to  you,  that  what  remains  will  speedily 
be  as  valuable  as  the  Avhole  was  before. 

"  It  cannot  be  denied,  therefore,  that  this  famous  edict,  especially  in  the 
latter  of  the  two  cases,  was  a  very  stern  interference  with  the  rights  of  private 
property  ;  nor  is  it  wonderful  that  those  against  whom  it  was  directed  should 
have  sternly  opposed  it ;  but  the  minister  was  sterner  still.  He  found  the 
finances  ruined,  and  the  treasury  attacked  by  demands,  which  required  that 
the  treasury  should  be  filled  ;  he  saw  the  imperious  necessity  of  rendering 
agriculture  more  productive  ;  and  though  it  may  be  doubted,  whether  the 
same  end  miglit  not  have  been  gained  by  new-modelling  the  relations  between 
the  parties,  as  landlord  and  tenant,  instead  of  stripping  the  former  to  create  a 
new  race  of  proprietors,  there  is  no  doubt  at  all  as  to  the  success  of  the  mea- 
sure, in  increasing  the  productiveness  of  the  soil.  Even  those  of  the  aristoc- 
racj'',  who  have  waged  war  most  bitterly  against  Hardenberg's  reforms,  allow 
that,  in  regard  to  agriculture,  this  law  has  produced  incredible  good.  '  It 
must  be  confessed,'  says  one  of  them,  '  that,  in  ten  years,  it  has  carried  us  for- 
ward a  whole  century ;' — the  best  of  all  experimental  proofs  how  injurious  the 
old  relations  between  the  proprietors  and  the  laborers  of  the  soil  must  have 
been  to  the  prosperity  of  the  country. 

"  The  direct  operation  of  this  measui'e  necessarily  was  to  make  a  great  deal 
of  property  change  hands  ;  but  this  effect  was  farther  increased  by  its  indirect 
operation.  The  law  appeared  at  a  moment  when  the  greater  part  of  the  es- 
tates of  the  nobility  were  burdened  with  debts,  and  the  proprietors  were  now 
deprived  of  their  rentals.  They  indeed  had  land  thrown  back  upon  their 
hands  ;  but  this  only  multiplied  their  embarrassments.  In  the  hands  of  their 
boors,  the  soil  had  been  productive  to  them  ;  now  that  it  was  in  their  own, 
they  had  neither  skill  nor  capital  to  cai-ry  on  its  profitable  cultivation,  and 
new  loans  only  added  to  the  interest  which  already  threatened  to  consume  its 
probable  fruits.  The  consequence  of  all  this  was,  that  besides  the  portion  of 
land  secured  in  free  property  to  the  peasantry,  much  of  the  remainder  came 
into  the  market,  and  the  purchasers  were  generally  persons  who  had  acquired 
wealth  by  trade  or  manufactures.*     The  sale  of  the  royal  domains,  to  supply 

*  It  will  scarcely  be  believed  that,  up  to  1807,  a  person  not  noble  could  only  by  accident 
find  a  piece  of  land,  whatever  number  of  estates  might  be  in  the  market,  which  he  would  be 
allowed  to  purchase.  By  far  the  greater  portion  of  the  landed  property  consisted  of  estates- 
noble  ;  and  if  the  proprietor  brought  his  estate  into  the  market,  only  a  nobleman  could  pur- 
chase it.  The  merchant,  the  banker,  the  artist,  the  manufacturer,  every  citizen,  in  short,  who 
had  acquired  wealth  by  industry  and  skill,  lay  under  an  absolute  prohibition  against  invest- 
ing it  in  land,  unless  he  previously  purchased  a  patent  of  nobility,  or  stumbled  on  one  of 
those  few  spots  which,  in  former  days,  had  escaped  the  hands  of  a  noble  proprietor,  small  in 
number,  and  seldom  in  the  market.  Even  Frederick  the  Great  lent  his  aid  to  perpetuate  this 
preposterous  system,  in  the  idea  that  he  would  best  compel  the  investment  of  capital  in  trade 
and  manufactures,  by  making  it  impossible  to  dispose  of  it,  when  realized,  in  agricultural  pur- 
suits,— a  plan  which  led  to  the  depression  of  agriculture,  the  staple  of  the  kingdom,  as  cer- 
tainly as  it  was  directed  in  vain  to  cherish  artificially  a  manufacturing  activity,  on  which  the 
country  is  much  less  dependent.  This  could  not  possibly  last ;  the  noble  proprietors  were 
regularly  becoming  poorer,  and  the  same  course  of  events  which  compelled  so  many  of  them 


1824.]  PKUSSIAN   DIVISION   OF   PEOPEETY.  481 

the  necessities  of  the  state,  operated  po-werfuUy  in  the  same  way.  These  do- 
mains always  formed  a  most  important  item  in  the  revenue  of  a  German 
prince,  and  one  which  was  totally  independent  of  any  control,  even  that  of 
the  imperfectly  constituted  estates.  In  Prussia,  they  were  estimated  to  yield 
annually  nearly  half  a  million  sterling,  even  in  the  hands  of  farmers,  and, 
under  the  changes  which  have  so  rapidly  augmented  the  value  of  the  soil  all 
over  the  kingdom,  they  would  soon  have  become  much  more  profitable.  Bat, 
while  compelled  to  tax  severely  the  property  of  his  subjects,  the  king  refused 
to  spare  his  own;  and,  in  1811,  an  edict  was  issued,  authorizing  the  sale  of  the 
royal  domains  at  twenty-five  years'  purchase  of  the  estimated  rental.  These, 
too,  passed  into  the  hands  of  the  purchasers  not  connected  with  the  aristoc- 
racy ;  for  the  aristocracy,  so  far  from  being  able  to  purchase  the  estates  of 
others,  were  selling  their  own  estates  to  pay  their  debts.  The  party  opposed 
to  Hardenberg  has  not  ceased  to  lament  that  the  Crown  should  thus  have  been 
shorn  of  its  native  and  independent  glories ;  '  for  it  ought  to  be  powerful,'  say 
they,  'by  its  own  revenues  and  possessions.'  Our  principles  of  government 
teach  us  a  different  doctrine. 

"  Beneficial  as  the  economical  effects  of  this  division  of  property  may  have 
been,  its  political  results  are  no  less  important.  It  has  created  a  new  class  of 
citizens,  and  these  the  most  valuable  of  all  citizens ;  every  trace,  not  merely  of 
subjection,  but  of  restraint,  has  been  removed  from  the  industrious,  but  poor 
and  degraded  peasants,  and  they  have  at  once  been  converted  into  independ- 
ent landed  proprietors,  resembling  much  the  petits  proprietaires  created  by 
the  French  Eevolution.  In  Pomerania,  for  example,  the  estates  of  the  nobility 
were  calculated  to  contain  260  square  miles;  those  of  free  proprietors,  not 
noble,  only  five  miles.  Of  the  former,  about  100  were  Bauernhofe,  in  the 
hands  of  the  peasantry ;  and,  by  the  operation  of  the  law,  60  of  these  would 
still  remain  the  property  of  the  boors  who  cultivated  them.  Thus  there  is  now 
twelve  times  as  much  landed  property,  in  this  province,  belonging  to  persons 
who  are  not  noble,  as  there  was  before  the  appearance  of  this  edict.  The  race 
of  boors  is  not  extinct ;  for  the  provisions  of  the  law  are  not  imperative,  if 
both  parties  prefer  remaining  in  their  old  relation ;  but  this  is  a  preference 
which,  on  the  part  of  the  peasant  at  least,  is  not  to  be  expected.  Care  has 
been  taken  that  no  new  relations  of  the  same  kind  shall  be  formed.  A  pro- 
prietor might  settle  his  agricultural  servants  upon  his  grounds,  giving  them 
land,  instead  of  wages,  and  binding  them  to  hereditary  service  :  this  would 
just  have  been  the  seed  of  a  new  race  of  boors  to  toil  under  the  old  personal 
services.  Probably  the  thing  had  been  attempted  ;  for,  in  1811,  an  edict  ap- 
peared, which,  while  it  allows  the  proprietor  to  pay  his  servants  in  whole  or 
in  part  with  the  use  of  land,  limits  the  duration  of  such  a  contract  to  twelve 
years.  It  prohibits  him  absolutely  from  giving  these  families  land  heritably, 
on  condition  of  service  ;  if  a  single  acre  is  to  be  given  in  property,  it  must 
either  be  a  proper  sale,  or  a  fixed  rent  must  be  stipulated  in  money  or  produce. 
Hardenberg  was  resolved  that  his  measure  should  be  complete. 

"  When  to  the  peasants  who  have  thus  become  landholders,  is  added  the 
numerous  class  of  citizens,  not  noble,  who  have  come  into  the  possession  of 
landed  property  by  the  sales  of  the  royal  domains,  and  the  necessities  of  so 
many  of  the  higher  orders,  it  is  not  difficult  to  foresee  the  political  conse- 
quences of  such  a  body  of  citizens  gradually  rising  in  wealth  and  respectabil- 

to  sell,  disabled  them  generally  from  buying ;  destitute  of  capital  to  cultivate  their  own  estates, 
it  was  not  among  thein  that  the  purchasers  of  the  royal  domains  were  to  be  looked  for.  In 
1807,  Stein  swept  away  the  whole  mass  of  absurd  restrictions,  and  every  man  was  made  capa- 
ble of  holding  every  kind  of  property. — R. 

VOL.  I.  21 


482  NOCTES    AMBKOSIANiE.  [Aua. 

ity,  and  dignified  by  that  feeling  of  self-esteem  which  usually  accompanies 
the  independent  possession  of  property.  Unless  their  progress  be  impeded  by 
extraneous  circumstances,  they  must  rise  to  political  influence,  because  they 
will  gradually  become  fitting  depositaries  of  it.  It  would  scarcely  be  too 
much  to  say,  that  the  Prussian  government  must  have  contemplated  such  a 
change  ;  for  its  administration,  during  the  last  fourteen  years,  has  been  direct- 
ed to  produce  a  state  of  society  in  which  pure  despotism  cannot  long  exist 
but  by  force  ;  it  has  been  throwing  its  subjects  into  those  relations  which,  by 
the  very  course  of  nature,  give  the  people  political  influence  by  making  them 
fit  to  exercise  it.  Is  there  any  thing  in  political  history  that  should  make  us 
wish  to  see  them  in  possession  of  it  sooner  ?  Is  it  not  better  that  liberty 
should  rise  spontaneously  from  a  soil  prepared  for  its  reception,  and  in  which 
its  seeds  have  gradually  been  maturing  in  the  natural  progress  of  society, 
than  violently  to  plant  it  on  stony  and  thorny  ground,  where  no  congenial 
qualities  give  strength  to  its  roots,  and  beauty  to  its  blossoms,  where  it  does- 
not  throw  wide  its  perennial  shadow,  under  which  the. people  may  find  hap- 
piness and  refuge,  but  springs  up,  like  the  gourd  of  Jonah,  in  the  night  of 
popular  tumult,  and  unnatural  and  extravagant  innovation,  to  perish  in  the 
morning  beneath  the  heat  of  reckless  faction,  or  the  consuming  fire  of  foreign 
interference  ? 

"  This  great,  and  somewhat  violent  measure,  of  creating  in  the  state  a  new 
order  of  citizens  possessing  independent  propei'ty,  was  preceded  and  followed 
by  a  crowd  of  other  reforms,  all  tending  to  the  same  end,  to  let  loose  the  ener- 
gies of  all  classes  of  the  people,  and  bring  them  into  a  more  comfortable  social 
relation  to  each  other.     While  the  peasantry  were  not  only  set  free,  but  con- 
verted into  landholders,  the  aristocracy  were  sternly  deprived  of  that  exemp- 
tion fi'om  taxation  which,  more  than  any  thing  else,  renders  them  odious  in 
every  country  where  it  has  been  allowed  to  remain.     They  struggled  hard  to 
keep  their  estates  beyond  the  reach  of  the  land  tax,  but  the  king  and  Harden- 
berg  were  inflexible  :  *  We  hope,'  says  the  royal  edict,  '  that  those  to  whom 
this  measure  will  apply  will  reflect,  that,  in  future,  they  will  be  free  from  the 
reproach  of  escaping  public  burdens  at  the  expense  of  their  fellow-subjects. 
They  will  likewise  reflect,  that  the  tax  to  be  laid  upon  them  will  not  equal  the 
expense  to  which  they  would  be  put,  if  called  on  to  perform  the  military  ser- 
vices which  originally  burdened  their  estates.'     The  whole  financial  system 
acquired  an  uniformity  and  equality  of  distribution,  which  simplified  it  to  all, 
and  diminished   the  expense  of  collection,  while  it  increased   the  revenue. 
Above  all,  that  anomalous  system,  under  which  every  province  had  its  own 
budget,  and  its  peculiar  taxes,  was  destroyed,  and  Hardenberg,  after  much 
opposition,  carried  through  one  uniform  and  universal  system  for  the  whole 
monarchy.     This  enabled  him  to  get  rid  of  another  monstrous  evil.     Under 
the  miserable  system  of  financial  separation,  every  province  and  every  town 
was  surrounded  with  custom-houses,  taxing  and  watching  the  productions  of 
its  neighbors,  as  if  they  came  from  foreign  countries,  and  discouraging  all  in- 
ternal communication,     The  whole  was  swept  away.     At  the  same  time,  the 
national  expenditure  in  its  various  departments,  the  ways  and  means,  the  state 
of  the  public  debt,  and  the  funds  for  meeting  it,  were  given  forth  with  a  pub- 
licity which  produced  confidenee  in  Prussia,  and  alarm,  as  setting  a  bad  ex- 
ample, in  some  less  prudent  cabinets.     Those  amongst  ourselves  who  clamor 
most  loudly  against  the  misconduct  of  the  Prussian  government,  will  allow, 
that  the  secularization  and  sale  of  the  church  lands  was  a  liberal  and  patriotic 
measure  ;  those  who  more  wisely  think,  that  an  arbitrary  attack  on  any  spe- 
cies of  property  endangers  the  security  of  all  property,  will  lament  that  the 
public  necessities  should  have  rendered  it  advisable.     The  servitudes  of  thirl- 


1824]  THE    GEWEEBSTEUER.  483 

age,*  of  brewing  beer,  and  distilling  spirituous  liquoi's,  existed  in  their  most 
oppressive  form,  discouraging  agriculture,  and  fostering  the  ruinous  spirit  of 
monopoly.  They  were  abolished  with  so  unsparing  a  hand,  that,  tliough  in- 
demnification was  not  absolutely  refused,  the  forms  and  modes  of  proof  of  loss 
sustained  to  found  a  claim  to  it  were  of  such  a  nature,  as  to  render  it  difiicult 
to  be  procured,  and  trifling  when  made  good.     This  was  too  unsparing. 

"  In  the  towns  there  was  much  less  to  be  done ;  it  was  only  necessary  to 
release  their  arts  and  manufactures  from  old  restraints,  and  rouse  their  citizens 
to  an  interest  in  the  public  weal.  Hardenberg  attempted  the  first  by  a  mea- 
sure on  which  more  popular  governments  have  not  yet  been  bold  enough  to 
venture,  however  strongly  it  has  been  recommended  by  political  economists; 
he  struck  down  at  one  blow  all  guildries  and  corporations, — not  those  larger 
forms,  which  include  all  the  citizens  of  a  town,  and  constitute  a  borough,  but 
those  subordinate  forms  which  regard  particular  classes  and  professions.  But, 
whether  it  was  from  views  of  finance,  or  that  he  found  himself  compelled,  by 
opposing  interests,  to  yield  something  to  the  old  principle,  that  the  public  is 
totally  unqualified  to  judge  who  serves  them  well  and  who  serves  them  badly, 
but  must  have  some  person  to  make  the  discovery  for  them,  the  chancellor 
seems  to  have  lost  his  way  in  this  measure.  He  left  every  man  at  liberty  to 
follow  every  profession,  free  from  the  fetters  of  an  incorporated  body ;  but  he 
converted  the  government  into  one  huge,  xmiversal  corporation,  and  allowed 
no  man  to  pursue  any  profession  without  annually  procui'ing  and  paying  for 
the  permission  of  the  state.  The  Gewerbsteuer,  introduced  in  1810,  is  a  yearly 
tax  on  every  man  who  follows  a  profession,  on  account  of  that  profession ;  it  is 
like  our  ale  and  pedlar  licenses,  but  it  is  universal.  So  far,  it  is  only  financial ; 
but  the  license  by  no  means  follows  as  a  matter  of  course,-  and  here  reappears 
the  incorporation  spirit ;  every  member  of  those  professions,  which  are  held  to 
concern  more  nearly  the  public  weal,  must  produce  a  certificate  of  the  provin- 
cial government,  that  he  is  duly  qualified  to  exercise  it.  Doctors  and  chimney- 
sweeps, midwives  and  ship-builders,  notaries-public  and  mill-wrights,  book- 
sellers and  makers  of  water-pipes,  with  a  host  of  other  equally  homogeneous 
professionalists,  must  be  guaranteed  by  that  department  of  the  government 
within  whose  sphere  their  occupation  is  most  naturally  included,  as  perfectly 
fit  to  execute  their  professions.  The  system  is  cumbersome,  but  it  wants,  at 
least,  the  exclusive  esprit  de  corps  of  corporations. 

"  The  other  and  more  important  object,  that  of  rousing  the  citizens  to  an 
active  concern  in  the  afi"airs  of  their  own  community,  had  already  been  accom- 
plished by  Stftin  in  his  Stadteordnung,  or  constitution  for  the  cities,  which  was 
completed  and  promulgated  in  1808.  He  did  not  go  the  length  of  annual  par- 
liaments and  universal  suffrage,  for  the  magistracy  is  elected  only  every  third 
year;  but  the  elective  franchise  is  so  widely  distributed  among  all  resident 
householders,  of  a  certain  income  or  rental,  that  none  are  excluded  whom  it 
would  be  proper  to  admit.  Nay,  complaints  are  sometimes  heard  from  persons 
of  the  upper  ranks,  that  it  compels  them  to  give  up  paying  any  attention  to 
civic  affairs,  because  it  places  too  direct  and  overwhelming  an  influence  in  the 
hands  of  the  lower  orders.  There  can  be  no  doubt,  however,  of  the  good  which 
it  has  done,  were  there  nothing  else  than  the  publicity  which  it  has  bestowed 
on  the  management  and  proceedings  of  public  and  charitable  institutions.  The 
first  merchant  of  Breslau,  the  second  city  of  the  monarchy,  told  me  it  was 
impossible  to  conceive  what  a  change  it  had  effected  for  the  better,  and  what 
interest  every  citizen  now  took  in  the  public  affairs  of  the  corporation,  in  hos- 

*  Let  those  who  accuse  the  Prussian  government  of  disregarding  the  improvement  of  its 
subjects  reflect,  that  it  was  only  in  1799,  that  the  British  Parliament  thought  of  contriving 
means  to  rescue  th€  agriculture  of  Scotland  from  thia  servitude.— R. 


484  NOCTES   AMBROSIAN^.  [AuQ. 

pitals  and  schools,  in  roads,  and  bridges,  and  pavements,  and  water-pipes. 
'Nay,'  added  he,  *by  our  example,  we  have  even  compelled  the  Catholic 
charities  to  print  accounts  of  their  funds  and  proceedings ;  for,  without  doing 
so,  they  could  not  have  stood  against  us  in  public  confidence.'  This  is  the 
true  view  of  the  matter;  nor  is  there  any  danger  that  the  democratic  principle 
will  be  extravagant  in  the  subordinate  communities,  while  the  despotic  prin- 
ciple is  so  strong  in  the  general  government  of  the  country. 

"  Such  has  been  the  general  spirit  of  the  administration  of  Prussia,  since  the 
battle  of  Jena ;  and  it  would  be  gross  injustice  to  her  government  to  deny,  that 
in  all  this  it  has  acted  with  an  honest  and  effective  view  to  the  public  welfare, 
and  has  betrayed  any  thing  but  a  selfish  or  prejudiced  attachment  to  old  and 
mischievous  relations;  that  was  no  part  of  the  character  of  either  Stein  or 
Hardenberg.  The  government  is  in  its  forms  a  despotic  one ;  it  wields  a  cen- 
sorship ;  it  is  armed  with  a  strict  and  stern  police ;  and,  in  one  sense,  the  prop- 
erty of  the  subject  is  at  its  disposal,  in  so  far  as  the  portion  of  his  goods  which 
he  shall  contribute  to  the  public  service  depends  only  on  the  pleasure  of  the 
government;  but  let  not  our  just  hatred  of  despotic  forms  make  us  blind  to 
substantial  good.  Under  these  forms,  the  government,  not  more  from  policy 
than  inclination,  has  been  guilty  of  no  oppressions  which  might  place  it  in 
dangerous  opposition  to  public  feeling  or  opinion ;  while  it  has  crowded  its 
administration  with  a  rapid  succession  of  ameliorations,  which  gave  new  life 
to  all  the  weightiest  interests  of  the  state,  and  brought  all  classes  of  society 
into  a  more  natural  array,  and  which  only  ignorance  or  prejudice  can  deny  to 
have  been  equally  beneficial  to  the  people,  and  honorable  to  the  executive.  I 
greatly  doubt,  whether  there  be  any  example  of  a  popular  government  doing 
so  much  real  good  in  so  short  a  time,  and  with  so  much  continued  effect.  When 
a  minister  roots  out  abuses  which  impede  individual  prosperity,  gives  free 
course  to  the  arts  and  industry  of  the  country,  throws  open  to  the  degraded 
the  paths  of  comfort  and  respectability,  and  brings  down  the  artificial  privi- 
leges of  the  high  to  that  elevation  which  nature  demands  in  every  stable  form 
of  political  society ;  while  he  thus  prepares  a  people  for  a  popular  government, 
while,  at  the  same  time,  by  this  very  preparation,  he  creates  the  safest  and 
most  unfailing  means  of  obtaining  it,  he  stands  much  higher  as  a  statesman 
and  philosopher,  than  the  minister  who  rests  satisfied  with  the  easy  praise,  and 
the  more  than  doubtful  experiment,  of  giving  popular  forms  to  a  people  which 
knows  neither  how  to  value  nor  exercise  them.  The  statesmen  of  this  age, 
more  than  of  any  other,  ought  to  have  learned  the  folly  of  casting  the  political 
pearl  before  swine. 

"  This  is  no  defence  of  despotism ;  it  is  a  statement  of  the  good  which  the 
Prussian  governm'int  has  done,  and  an  elucidation  of  the  general  spirit  of 
improvement  in  which  it  has  acted ;  but  it  furnishes  no  reason  for  retaining 
the  despotic  forms  under  which  this  good  has  been  wrought  out,  so  soon  as  the 
public  wishes  require,  and  the  public  mind  is,  in  some  measure,  capable  of 
using  more  liberal  and  manly  instruments.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  most 
unfair  (and  yet,  in  relation  to  Prussia,  nothing  is  more  common)  to  forget  what 
a  monarch  has  done  for  his  subjects,  in  our  hatred  of  the  fact  that  he  has  done 
it  without  their  assistance,  and  to  set  down  his  government  as  a  mere  ignorant, 
selfish,  and  debasing  tyranny.  The  despotism  of  Prussia  stands  as  far  above 
that  of  Naples,  or  Austria,  or  Spain,  as  our  own  constitution  stands  above  the 
mutilated  Charter  of  France.  The  people  are  personally  attached  to  their 
king ;  and,  in  regard  to  his  government,  they  feel  and  recognise  the  real  good 
which  has  been  done  infinitely  more  strongly  than  the  want  of  the  unknown 
good  which  is  yet  to  be  attained,  and  which  alone  can  secure  the  continuance 
of  all  the  rest.     They  have  not  enjoyed  the  political  experience  and  education 


1824.]  PKUSSIAJS"    POLITICS.  485 

■wliicli  would  teach  them  the  value  of  this  security ;  and  even  the  better  in- 
formed classes  tremble  at  the  thought  of  exacting  it  by  popular  clamor,  because 
they  see  it  must  speedily  come  of  itself.  From  the  Elbe  to  the  Oder,  I  found 
nothing  to  make  me  believe  in  the  existence  of  that  general  discontent  and 
ripeness  for  revolt  which  have  been  broadly  asserted,  more  than  once,  to  exist 
in  Prussia;  and  it  would  be  wonderful  to  find  a  people  to  whom  all  political 
thinking  is  new,  who  knew  nothing  of  political  theories,  and  suffer  no  personal 
oppressions,  ready  to  raise  the  shout  of  insurrection. 

"  To  this  it  is  commonly  added,  that  the  general  discontent  is  only  forcibly 
kept  down  by  the  large  standing  army.  The  more  I  understood  the  constitu- 
tion of  the  Pi-ussian  army,  the  more  difficult  I  found  it  to  admit  this  constantly- 
repeated  assertion.  Not  only  is  every  male  of  a  certain  age,  a  regularly  trained 
soldier,  the  most  difficult  of  all  populations  to  be  crushed  by  force,  when  they 
are  once  warmed  by  a  popular  cause,  but  by  far  the  greater  part  of  this  sup- 
posed despotic  instrument  consists  of  men  taken,  and  taken  only  for  a  time,  from 
the  body  of  citizens  against  whom  they  are  to  be  employed.  There  is  always, 
indeed,  a  very  large  army  on  foot,  and  the  foreign  relations  of  Prussia  render 
the  maintenance  of  a  large  force  indispensable;  but  it  is,  in  fact,  a  militia. 
*  We  have  no  standing  army  at  all,  properly  speaking,'  said  an  officer  of  the 
Guards  to  me ;  '  what  may  be  called  our  standing  army  is,  in  reality,  nothing 
but  a  school,  in  which  all  citizens,  without  exception,  between  twenty  and 
thirty-two  years  of  age,  are  trained  to  be  soldiers.  Three  years  are  reckoned 
sufficient  for  this  purpose.  A  third  of  our  army  is  annually  changed.  Those 
who  have  served  their  three  years  are  sent  home,  form  what  is  called  the  War 
Reserve,  and,  in  case  of  war,  are  first  called  out.  Their  place  is  supplied  by 
a  new  draught  from  the  young  men  who  have  not  yet  been  out ;  and  so  it  goes 
on.'  Surely  a  military  force  so  constituted  is  not  that  to  which  a  despot  can 
well  trust  for  enchaining  a  struggling  people ;  if  popular  feeling  were  against 
him,  these  men  would  bring  it  along  with  them  to  his  very  standard.  I  can 
not  help  thinking,  that,  if  it  were  once  come  to  this  between  the  people  and 
government  of  Prussia,  it  would  not  be  in  his  own  bayonets,  but  in  those  of 
Russia  and  Austria,  that  Frederick  William  would  have  to  seek  a  trustworthy 
ally. 

"  It  will  never  do  to  judge  of  the  general  feeling  of  a  country  from  the  mad 
tenets  of  academical  youths,  (who  are  despised  by  none  more  heartily  than  by 
the  people  themselves,)  or  from  the  still  less  pardonable  excesses  of  hot-headed 
teachers.  When  I  was  in  Berlin,  a  plot,  headed  by  a  schoolmaster,  was  de- 
tected in  Stargard,  in  Pomerania  :  the  object  was,  to  proclaim  tlie  Spanish  Con- 
stitution, and  assassinate  the  ministers  and  other  persons  of  weight  who  might 
naturally  be  supposed  to  be  hostile  to  the  innovation.  This  no  moi-e  proves 
the  Prussian  people  to  be  ripe  for  revolt,  than  it  proves  them  to  be  ready  to 
be  murderers. 

"  In  judging  of  the  political  feelings  of  a  country,  a  Briton  is  apt  to  be  de- 
ceived by  his  own  political  habits  still  more  than  by  partial  observation.  The 
political  exercises  and  education  which  we  enjoy,  are  riches  which  we  may 
well  wish  to  see  in  the  possession  of  others ;  but  they  lead  us  into  a  thousand 
fallacies,  when  they  make  us  conclude,  from  what  our  feelings  would  be  under 
any  given  institutions,  that  another  people,  whose  very  prejudices  go  with  its 
government,  must  be  just  as  ready  to  present  a  claim  of  right,  bring  the  king 
to  trial,  or  declare  the  throne  to  be  vacant.  Prussia  is  by  no  means  the  only 
country  of  Gei-many  where  the  people  know  nothing  of  that  love  of  political 
thinking  and  information  which  pervade  ourselves.  But  Prussia  is  in  the  trua 
course  to  arrive  at  it ;  the  most  useful  classes  of  her  society  are  gradually  rising 
iu  wealth,  respectability,  and  importance  ;  and,  ere  long,  her  government,  in 


486  NOCTES   AMBROSIAN^.  [Aug.  1824. 

the  natural  course  of  things,  must  admit  popular  elements.  If  foreign  influ- 
ence, and  above  all,  that  of  Russia,  whose  leaden  weight  i^  said  to  hang  too 
heavil}^  already  on  the  cabinet  of  Berlin,  do  not  interfere,  I  shall  be  deceived  if 
the  change  be  either  demanded  with  outrageous  clamor  from  below,  or  refused 
with  unwise  and  selfish  obstinacy  fi'om  above.  No  people  of  the  continent 
better  deserve  political  liberty  than  the  Germans ;  for  none  will  wait  for  it 
more  patiently,  receive  it  more  thankfully,  or  use  it  with  greater  moderation." 

North.  Thank  ye,  Odoherty — that's  a  good  boy. 

Odoherty.  May  I  take  the  book  home  with  me  ?  I  must  certainly 
read  the  rest  of  it. 

North.  By  all  means.  I  assm'e  you  you  will  find  the  writing  through- 
out clever,  the  facts  interesting,  and  the  tone  excellent.  Ring,  Morgan ; 
I  must  have  my  chair. 


END  OF  VOL.  I. 


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